#they are so important to me it’s not even a joke…

[darkmatilda]

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer reid tries to focus on work, but keeps getting distracted. first by an unexpected phone call. then by the way you start flirting with another agent right across from his desk. but in the end, why does it even bother him?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spender reid x diva!chemist reader, reader kinda threatens to poison him, but its not a threat, just their silly way of showing mutual affection <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request. heyyy wonderful people, just letting you know that your request was the second-to-last in my inbox, so im opening them again! feel free to send me your ideas for the diva reader series, im already grateful in advance :>

Spencer usually gave out his phone number only to the people closest to him.

That way, he didn’t get unnecessary calls distracting him from more important matters, and he could be sure that if someone truly needed to reach him, they wouldn’t have any trouble doing so.

So, as he walked through the Quantico office, planning to track down Hotch—who supposedly wanted to see him—he was so absorbed in their case that he pressed his phone to his ear without thinking, without even looking at the screen, fully expecting to hear a familiar voice. Someone from the team, maybe.

Instead…

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A slightly raspy male voice. Spencer immediately estimated the caller to be around forty, judging by the subtle rustling sound—whoever it was, they were holding the phone just a little too close to their mouth.

Spencer froze in place.

His first thought—a wrong number.

His second—another one of Morgan’s pranks.

Just in case it was the latter, he didn’t hang up immediately. If his friend had planned something, he needed to find out what—so he could properly retaliate later.

"We met last night, don’t know if you remember," the man continued after a brief silence, caused entirely by Spencer’s confusion. "I hope you do. Because I sure do. Hard to forget a face like yours. You still there, sweetheart?"

In case anyone had any doubts—Spencer was not the intended recipient of this conversation.

He hadn’t gone out the night before, let alone given his number to a stranger. In fact, he had been in an entirely different state.

"Oh, sweetheart, don’t make me mad now. Or maybe you’re staying quiet because you’re curious how much I remember about you? Want me to remind you what you were wearing?"

Suddenly, it clicked.

After a brief second of pure disbelief, Spencer rolled his eyes upward, staring straight into the glare of the overhead lights. He blinked slowly.

His brain was exceptionally sharp that day. Even more so than usual.

Which meant it didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. A quick mental chain reaction, linking scattered fragments of information into a single, clear conclusion. 

The man on the other end of the line thought Spencer was the woman he had met the night before.

Spencer had a few female friends, but everything—literally everything—pointed to her.

First of all, he was nearly certain none of the others had gone out last night. They had all been working together, after all.

Second, and somehow more importantly—none of them, except her, would have found it remotely funny to give his number to a random guy.

As a joke? Was that what this was supposed to be?

“There’s no need for that,” Spencer cut in sharply, before the man on the other end could start poetically or less poetically describing her outfit.

This time, the silence came from the other side, laced with clear confusion.

Spencer couldn’t stop the faint crease forming on his forehead, nor the subtle tension drawing his shoulder blades together. The entire conversation left a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t just because the guy was wasting his time.

It was his voice.

Self-important. Smug. Wet in a way that made simply listening to him an unpleasant experience. The kind of voice that could turn an otherwise neutral or even affectionate word sweetheart into something damn near degrading.

Years of experience profiling people meant Spencer had no trouble picturing exactly the kind of man he was dealing with. And the distaste coiling in his gut only sharpened.

“For future reference,” he said, barely pausing for breath, his grip tightening on the phone, “I’d suggest double-checking the numbers women give you when they’re trying to get rid of you. Because this isn’t your sweetheart. This is the Behavioral Analysis Unit, which, for your information, is part of the FBI. And your utterly pointless, time-wasting phone call could be considered obstruction of justice, which, surprise, can land you several years in prison.

A loud silence followed—one that left Spencer with a strange feeling. Satisfaction, maybe.

The man cleared his throat, and Spencer would bet good money that there were one or two silent curses mixed in there.

“This whore must’ve given me a fake number,” the guy muttered, no longer speaking directly into the phone.

The sudden shift from sweetheart to whore was so blatant that Spencer couldn’t hold back a sharp, mocking scoff.

“Well, I’m guessing you didn’t think of her as a whore when you were trying to hit on her last night—”

He barely finished the last word before the line went dead.

For a moment, he remained motionless, the phone still pressed to his ear, analyzing his own reaction. He was completely taken aback by it. Almost immediately, though, he forced himself into a nonchalant shrug, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation at an unwanted call.

Work. Right. Work. He had work to do, he had to meet with Hotch…

…but he had barely covered a few meters when his gaze caught a familiar stride and silhouette crossing one of the hallways. And before his mind could even consciously make the decision, he found himself heading in that direction—despite originally going somewhere entirely different.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked as her hand pressed the elevator button.

She didn’t look at him at first, though she must have heard his footsteps. It wasn’t until he spoke that she slightly turned her head toward him.

“Not too bad,” she admitted casually. Her hands immediately moved to their usual position, arms crossed over her chest, and a small teasing smile danced on her lips.“How about your morning? Any interesting phone calls?”

He opened and closed his mouth, not expecting to be so transparent. He also felt a bit confused by her enigmatic, calm reaction. The elevator stopped, and she confidently stepped inside first.

Spencer followed her.

“I don’t quite get it,” he admitted, furrowing his brows. “Was that supposed to be a joke at my expense, or that guy’s?”

They stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder in the small elevator space. He looked at her, and she stared ahead. She slowly shrugged.

“Maybe both,” she replied, inspecting her nails. Spencer clenched his lips, holding back from saying that she could at least spare him the ignorant, irritating attitude for once. “Or maybe I just wanted to get rid of the pushy guy by giving him the first random number I could think of” She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “And maybe I was hoping you'd scare the shit out of him with some long lecture, preferably about the law. Was I right?”

She shifted her gaze fully to him, her piercing eyes locking onto him with such intensity that denial was out of the question. He didn’t even need to answer—the flicker of expression that crossed his face gave him away instantly.

Her short laugh filled the elevator.

He always felt a little humiliated, standing there in silence while she laughed at his expense. So he spoke first, blurting out the first thing that came to mind—the thing that had been sitting there for a while now.

“Does that happen a lot? Guys being pushy?”

She gave him a closer look, maybe because of the unintended seriousness in his voice. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that way. Clearing his throat, he tried to appear more indifferent.

“Well, yes,” she said simply. Stating an obvious fact, a reality she was used to. “Every time. But getting rid of them isn’t hard. A well-placed conversation, and they run off just as fast as they showed up.” She scoffed. “But sometimes I’d rather just, you know, actually enjoy my evening instead of dealing with them. And that’s when the fake number trick comes in.”

Spencer caught himself listening with genuine interest. He was well aware of the effect she had on people—how she drew eyes just by existing, how so many of those looks were filled with nothing but desire. He also had the impression that, for the most part, she regarded them with mild disdain—or maybe even enjoyed being the center of attention.

He hadn’t considered that sometimes she’d had enough of them—so much so that she had an entire list of strategies to get rid of them just as quickly as she attracted them.

He realized he had fallen silent, lost in thought. The elevator stopped at her floor—he hadn’t planned on getting in with her in the first place, which meant he was now stuck pretending he was going somewhere else.

She took a step toward the open doors before his voice stopped her.

“Wait, you’re not even going to say thank you?” he asked. “I did waste some time on that guy. That was a solid lecture.”

She stood in front of the open doors, facing him.

“I have a suspicion,” she began, one brow arching as a teasing smirk tugged at her lips, “that you enjoyed it way too much to actually need my thanks.”

She gave him a small wave—just her fingers, really—before the elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from each other. Spencer hated to admit—even to himself—that she had a point. Okay, a lot of a point, he realized as he recalled that fleeting rush of satisfaction when the call abruptly ended, punctuated by a hint of panic on the other end.

And maybe that was what ultimately decided it—because from that moment on, on the rare occasions he received similar calls, he always had a long, meticulously crafted, stern lecture at the ready. One that, just before the inevitable abrupt hang-up, sent the smallest, most satisfying shiver down his spine.

*

"You have three hours."

"I can handle it in two."

 "Do it in one."

Spencer remembered these words, muttering a soft shit under his breath. The massive stack of papers that not only needed to be read but also carefully analyzed seemed to be getting no smaller. The hour on the clock, however, kept ticking forward.

"Hm? What's up? Do you have something?"

He slowly shifted his unwilling gaze to the man he was trapped in the room with. Well, not literally trapped, but that’s how it felt. Dean Bradley, an agent who’d been working on the case they’d just been assigned to for years, knew it inside out—naturally, he had been assigned to cooperate with them. His current role, however, seemed to involve nothing more than pretending to write something on the whiteboard and occasionally throwing out a theory that supposedly brought them closer to the solution but, in reality, only pushed them further away. Bradley was incredibly distracting to Spencer.

"No... I just... nothing." Spencer replied rubbing his throbbing temple. That case had been exceptionally exhausting, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and the coffee he had just drunk hadn’t helped at all. "Nothing. Just...can you not say anything to me for a while?"

Bradley raised an eyebrow at him but Reid didn’t really care. Simply buried his nose in the papers again, reading, or rather, devouring the pages with his eyes. There hadn’t been the best atmosphere between them ever since Spencer had ignored his outstretched hand for a greeting. Well, that was because he had seen Bradley leaving the bathroom earlier, and even if he had washed his hands, he had immediately touched the door handle that everyone in the building touched, half of whom hadn’t washed their hands. Honestly, Spencer would have preferred to kiss him as a greeting. It would have been safer.

For a moment, Bradley was actually quiet. He didn’t stay that way for too long, though—just long enough.

"So, where are those lab results? Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?"

"They were. So, I’m guessing they’ll be here any minute," Spencer replied shortly.

"It’s taking a while. Maybe I should just go grab them myself?"

Yeah, please do, Spencer nearly begged. He even opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, the door swung open and a woman stepped in, moving with quick, confident steps, but this time with a bit of frustration in her stride.

Completely ignoring the man's gaze landing on her, she stepped up to his desk and dropped the promised lab results onto it with a sharp motion.

"Could you tell me," she began, one hand still resting on the papers, preventing him from immediately going through them. Because she was standing while he was sitting, her figure loomed over him, forcing him to tilt his head slightly to meet her eyes. Naturally, he did, his gaze moving from her hand with neatly manicured fingers to her beautiful face, her bottom lip slightly protruding as she prepared to speak. "When exactly did I become your secretary? Because I don't remember that moment."

Spencer didn't even blink before responding, so used to thir verbal sparring and the fast pace she always set, just like her steps.

"Well, maybe since you started handing out my number left and right," he shot back instantly. Without breaking his gaze, he grabbed the empty cup sitting within arm's reach. "And since you consider yourself my secretary, would you be so kind as to make me a coffee?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Agent Bradley watching their exchange with fascination, focused on only one side of the conversation. No need to specify which side. Meanwhile, the woman tilted her head slightly to the side, a certain gleam lighting up her eyes.

"Sure," she replied, to his surprise. There was something devious in her tone. Suddenly, Spencer didn't want the coffee anymore. "But I’m not sure I’d be so kind as to make sure those ten teaspoons of sugar you put in your coffee are actually sugar, and not, say, arsenic..."

Instinctively, he pulled the cup closer to himself.

"Not ten," he mumbled.

"Oh, my eternal apologies, I exaggerated a bit. Five?"

"Well, now you're getting closer..."

Their conversation, or rather their verbal sparring, was interrupted by a cough.

“Reid,” Bradley said his last name much friendlier than ever before, with a mischievous grin on his face. “When you said the chemist would bring us the lab results, I imagined, I don’t know, Einstein with his hair sticking out in all directions. Did you really lock such a treasure in the lab?” he chuckled. “So it wouldn't distract y’all?”

Spencer looked up at the woman in front of him again, who had only just noticed the third person in the room. Her hand slowly slid off the papers she’d been resting on, though it stayed on the desk. She half turned her body toward the new speaker, casually sitting on the desk. There was something hypnotic in the fluid, clock-like motion as she crossed one knee over the other. For a moment, he just watched, realizing after a while that he wasn’t the only one.

“Maybe I locked myself in there,” she replied. Her tone calm, too calm, as it always was before she’d throw words, like precisely aimed darts, at the other person. “So I wouldn’t have to listen to the same tired lines from agents with the same tired faces, thinking they’re being creative.”

For a moment, he completely forgot about the pile of papers waiting to be analyzed. He watched what was unfolding in front of him, a small smile involuntarily starting to form on his lips. However, it faded the moment he noticed Bradley’s expression. He had expected him to be shut down. Speechless, maybe. Hurt in that characteristic, pathetic way typical of fragile male pride. Instead, Bradley was grinning like an idiot.

“Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” Bradley commented lightly, not in the slightest bit put off by her words. In fact, the fascination on his face only grew.

Spencer couldn’t help but glance at the profile of the woman sitting motionless on the desk. Her gaze was now also more focused, following the person across from her. Her eyes seemed even more concentrated, intrigued, and entertained than during their conversation. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, physically making himself look back at the papers. Work, right, work. He had to focus on it, despite how distracted he was by their presence. It was, after all, natural. They were speaking rather loudly, right in front of him. He began reading the text on the page, concentrating only on it.

“You must feel like some princess locked in a tower,”

His ears, against his better judgment, picked up Bradley’s next words. He shook his head. Text. A quick glance at the woman’s face. Text.

“You know, that German fairy tale from the 18th century…”

Spencer, from his own experience, knew that info dumping wasn’t the most effective way to flirt with a woman. Especially when it wasn’t even accurate.

“17th century,” he corrected, unable to stop himself. Both their gazes landed on him, but he didn’t respond to either, keeping his eyes fixed on the papers. He was reading them, but couldn’t grasp their meaning. He started analyzing the same paragraph again, continuing, “Assuming we’re talking about the German version of that fairy tale recorded by The Brothers Grimm. Because, actually, this was developed from the French literary fairy tale Persinette by Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de La Force, which itself is an alternative version of the Italian fairy tale Petrosinella by Giambattista Basile.”

A long silence fell. The woman shifted slightly in her seat, pretending to be focused on her work, and he tried not to look at her face. Was there pity or amusement on it? Why did it matter to him so much to figure that out? What mattered was only one thing: they were bothering him. The two of them. With the noise they were generating, to be precise.

The sound that filled the room was probably just a long breath from Bradley.

“Wow,” he repeated, thrown off. “Thanks for the clarification, Agent Reid.”

“It’s Doctor Reid.”

He couldn’t stop himself and looked at her. She closed her eyes when a smile spread across her lips. She didn’t try to hide it or hold it back. It was simply there. Bradley noticed it too, his arms, which had been casually resting on his hips, sliding down along his body.

"Didn't you have some urgent documents to analyze?" he began, trying not to sound confrontational, but he failed. He sounded confrontational. "The ones you kept reminding me about every five minutes since we got here?"

Reid didn't have a sharp retort ready for that one; in fact, Bradley had hit the nail on the head. He did have a lot of urgent documents to go through, but for reasons unknown to him, he'd decided to engage in this pointless conversation instead. His silence only seemed to fuel the satisfaction on Bradley's face, which was broken only by the movement of the woman. Specifically, her rising from the desk.

"You could've just said we’re interrupting," she remarked, stretching one leg after the other, every movement fluid. "Especially if it's something important. Is it?"

"Well, actually, yes..."

"In that case, I suppose we're in the way. Shall we go, Agent Bradley?"

She must have read his last name off the badge pinned to her chest. Both Spencer and Bradley looked at her, but only one of them slowly cracked a smile. The other let out a sigh, pretending to feel relief, though deep down, he genuinely did—finally, he could focus on what he had wanted to from the start.

They both made their way toward the door. Unused to her quick pace, and still a bit surprised by the attention she had given him, the agent trailed after her like a lost puppy. As they crossed the threshold, she turned back to him over her shoulder, looking like a kid bragging about winning a bike race.

Spencer merely shook his head with pity, and when they both disappeared in the same direction, he scoffed.

He returned to his work.

After a while, he found himself thinking that perhaps he preferred their conversation to be within earshot, rather than out of it.

[inseobts]

Thank you for all your amazing writing! Your blogs seriously make my day every time. Could you write a Law x reader where the reader falls ill with a rare, incurable disease? I just keep thinking about Law experiencing what Corazon went through back then… 😭 It can have a SE or HE, whatever you feel fits best!"

Terminal

law × reader

you fall ill with a rare, incurable disease and law refuses to accept it.

a/n: this was so sad T.T btw as I said in my rules post I don’t write about this kind of topic, but given that law’s story is about that I wanted to give it a try

words count: 4.2k

tags: terminal illness, soft, angst, worried law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You’re burning up.”

Law’s voice is calm, but you know him well enough to hear the tension beneath it. His hand lingers on your forehead, cool against your feverish skin.

You force a grin, despite the way your body aches “That’s just the effect you have on me.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything, his brows knit together further, golden eyes dark with something unreadable.

“Don’t joke” he says flatly.

“Come on, it was funny” you mumble, but your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Law exhales sharply. He presses two fingers against your wrist, checking your pulse. You see the flicker of something in his eyes. Worry.

“Since when?”

“Since when what?”

“Since you started feeling like this.” His voice drops lower, more controlled “Don’t lie.”

You sigh, shifting under the blanket “A few days ago. Maybe a week?”

“A week?” His jaw clenches, and you watch the way his fingers curl into a fist “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You were busy, Law,” you murmur “I didn’t want to bother you.”

His reaction is immediate. His eyes darken, sharp and cutting, and for a second, you swear he’s actually angry. But when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You think I wouldn’t drop everything for you?”

Your breath catches. You can’t look at him. Instead, you force out another weak chuckle “Well, you are a very important pirate, Captain.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Pretending it’s nothing.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, a sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you. The world tilts, your vision swims, and you barely register the way your body sways before Law is already there, steady hands catching you before you can fall.

“Y/N” His grip tightens around you, firm, grounding “I need to run some tests.”

You rest your forehead against his shoulder, too exhausted to protest “…That bad?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. You feel his heartbeat being too fast, too tense.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet. Almost too quiet.

“I’m going to fix this.”

And for the first time ever since you know him, you don’t believe him.

The beeping of medical equipment fills the silence.

You sit on Law’s examination table, legs dangling as he adjusts the monitor beside you. His brows are furrowed, golden eyes locked onto the screen, and even though he hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

The tension in the air is unbearable.

“Are you always this serious when you play doctor, or am I just special?” you tease, tilting your head at him.

Nothing. Not even a smirk.

You sigh dramatically “Come on, Law. You can’t even crack a smile for your beloved patient?”

“You’re not a patient,” he mutters “You’re my partner.”

His words send a little warmth through your chest, but before you can respond, he steps closer and gently presses his fingers against your wrist, feeling for your pulse again.

The warmth fades when you notice the way his hand lingers just a little too long.

“You like holding my hand that much?” you tease, forcing a grin “If you wanted to be romantic, you could’ve just asked.”

This time, his jaw tightens “Your pulse is weak.”

You try to wave him off with your free hand “That’s just because you’re touching me. Makes my heart stops, you know?”

“Y/N...” he warns, voice sharp.

You falter.

His hand moves to your other wrist, then your neck, fingers pressing lightly against your skin. His eyes are unreadable, but his silence is louder than anything he could say.

“…You’re scared” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

Law stiffens, but doesn’t deny it.

The realization makes your stomach twist, but you force another smile “Don’t worry, I’m still cute even when I’m dying.”

That does it. His head snaps up, eyes blazing “Don’t say that.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy, suffocating.

You swallow “Sorry. Just trying to make you laugh.”

“Not funny” he mutters.

You look away, fingers curling against the examination table.

Another long silence. Then, his hands are suddenly on either side of your face, tilting your head up gently so you’re looking at him again. His touch is careful, but his grip is firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

His voice is quieter this time “You’re not dying.”

You stare at him. For a moment, you want to believe him, but the way his hands tremble against your skin tells you otherwise.

After a while, Law stares at the test results, fingers tightening around the paper. His golden eyes flick over the numbers, the medical jargon, the hard, undeniable facts.

It’s terminal.

He’s quiet... too quiet. That’s the first thing that unsettles you. You’re used to his silence, but this is different. This is suffocating.

“So?” You swing your legs lightly from the examination table, forcing a smirk “What’s the verdict, Doc? Am I dying?”

Silence.

The smirk falters “Law?”

His fingers crumple the edge of the paper. His jaw tightens. And then, so softly that you almost don’t hear it, he says “…It’s incurable.”

For a second, you swear time stops.

The words don’t register at first. They don’t make sense. It’s like your brain refuses to process them.

And then you laugh.

It bursts out before you can stop it, light, teasing, just like every other joke you’ve made today “Wow, dramatic. You make it sound like I’m already in my grave.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even look at you.

The smile on your lips wavers.

“You’re kidding, right?”

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. He still won’t look at you.

Your heart pounds a little faster “Law. Tell me you’re joking.”

Nothing.

The laugh that slips out this time is shaky “Come on, then this is the part where you tell me there’s some rare treatment, right? Some experimental surgery? You’re Trafalgar freakin’ Law, Surgeon of Death. There’s no way—”

“y/n.”

The way he says your name, quiet, strained, makes the air leave your lungs.

Your fingers curl against the fabric of your shirt. The examination table feels too cold beneath you. The walls feel like they’re closing in.

“No...” you whisper.

Law’s lips press into a thin line. His hands twitch, like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t.

“No” you say again, more forcefully this time. You shake your head, heat rising in your chest, crawling up your throat “You’re wrong. There’s... there’s gotta be something. You just haven’t figured it out yet. Right?”

“Y/N—”

“No!” The word cracks as it leaves you “I’m not dying!”

Your vision blurs. Your hands shake. And suddenly, it’s too much.

Your body moves before you can think, you push yourself off the table, right into his chest.

Law catches you instantly, arms wrapping around you, steady, grounding. And just like that, everything shatters.

“I don’t—I don’t want to die” you choke out, gripping his coat like it’s the only thing keeping you here “I want to stay. With you. I want—” Your voice breaks “I want a future. I want us to be happy. I want—”

A sob wracks through you.

“I want a family with you.”

Law stiffens.

The words spill out before you can stop them, you smile at him between your tears “A little version of you, all broody and nerdy and so so cute” You let out a wet laugh, broken and trembling “They’d probably scowl just like you, but they’d love books and have messy hair and—”

Your voice crumbles into sobs.

Law doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

And then his arms tighten around you, crushing, like he’s trying to hold you together, keep you from falling apart.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.

“I’m going to save you.”

You want to believe him.

Only God knowa how much you want to believe him.

But the fear in his voice tells you even he isn’t sure.

The next morning, you wake up to find Law hunched over his desk, surrounded by stacks of medical books and scattered notes.

You sigh “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Sleep is a waste of time,” he mutters, scribbling something down “I need to go through every known case—”

“You need to stop already.”

He freezes.

Slowly, he turns to look at you. His dark circles are deeper than usual, his face unreadable, but you know him. You know that behind that impassive expression, he’s desperate.

You force a grin “If I really only have a little time left, do you really wanna waste it buried in books instead of spending it with me?”

Law’s fingers tighten around his pen.

“I’m not giving up” he says, voice low.

“I know,” you say gently “But I don’t want to spend my last time watching you drive yourself insane. If I’m gonna die, I wanna die happy.”

The words sting, but they’re true.

Law exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He doesn’t respond.

You hop off the bed, stretching dramatically “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m done being sad. It’s exhausting. So I’m back, and better than ever!” You flash him a grin “That means full-time comedy and flirting, just for you, Captain!”

His brow twitches “Y/N...”

You wag a finger at him “Shh, let me have this.” You strike a pose “Behold, Trafalgar D. Law’s hottest, funniest girlfriend! Incurable disease edition!”

Nothing.

You pout “Wow. Tough crowd.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose “Why do I put up with this?”

“Because I’m irresistible,” you say, leaning closer “And because you love me.”

His breath hitches for just a second.

And then, quietly “Yeah.”

You blink. Your cheeks burn “Whoa, that was easier than I thought. If I’d known getting a lovely love confession was that easy, I would’ve faked a terminal disease ages ago.”

“Not funny” he mutters.

You snicker “Okay, okay, this one wasn't the best.”

Law sighs, shaking his head. But when he looks at you, his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he looks away.

And suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. Because this is too familiar to him.

The way you laugh, the way you grin like you aren’t dying, like none of this is real... it reminds him of Corazon. Always smiling. Always laughing. Even with blood in his mouth. Even when he knew he was going to die.

A lump forms in Law’s throat.

You notice his change in expression instantly “Hey. What’s wrong?”

His fingers twitch at his sides “Nothing” he lies.

But you see it in his eyes, the fear.

You sigh, stepping closer, reaching for his hands. His fingers are cold. You squeeze them.

“Law,” you say softly “I’m not trying to leave you behind. I just... I don’t want you to only remember me as the person who was sick, who died. I want you to remember me smiling. Happy. With you. Because that's what I am.”

His hands tighten around yours.

He doesn’t say anything. But when you squeeze his hands again, he squeezes back.

You think Law has finally accepted things.

You think he’s finally listening to you, finally spending time with you instead of drowning himself in books and medical theories. And for a while, he does.

He stays close, fingers brushing against yours when you walk, arms wrapping around you when he thinks no one is looking. Some nights, he holds you a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

It makes you happy. It makes you feel alive. But then, he starts again.

The sleepless nights. The books. The notes. The obsessive, frantic research.

You wake up one night to find the bed empty.

Again.

With a sigh, you push yourself up. You grip the blanket, taking slow, even breaths, waiting for your vision to finally settles, you get up and pad toward Law’s office.

You don’t bother knocking.

“Law...”

He doesn’t look up. He’s hunched over his desk, surrounded by open books, pages filled with diagrams of Devil Fruits and medical notes scribbled in his messy handwriting. His coat is discarded on the chair, sleeves rolled up, hands gripping a pen so tightly his knuckles are white.

You frown “What are you doing?”

“Working.” His voice is hoarse.

“Yeah, I can see that, genius. But on what?”

He finally looks at you. There’s something wild in his eyes, desperation, determination, obsession.

You step closer. Your gaze flickers to the notes. And then your heart stops.

“Law,” you whisper, throat dry “Are you... are you trying to find me a Devil Fruit?”

“Not just any Devil Fruit,” he mutters, flipping a page. His fingers move fast, tracing over diagrams “Something similar to the Ope Ope no Mi. Something that could manipulate your body, enhance cellular regeneration, maybe even reprogram the disease out of you.”

Your stomach drops.

“Law.”

“I just need to find the right one.” He keeps going like he hasn’t heard you “There’s research, fragments of old studies, theories. If I can modify a fruit’s properties, or find a compatible—”

“Law!”

He flinches.

You swallow, hands shaking “You can’t just... you can’t force me to eat a Devil Fruit.”

He glares at you, jaw clenched “If it’s the only way to save you, then yes, I can.”

The air crackles between you.

For the first time, you see that he won’t stop. He won’t accept it. Not like you have.

You take a shaky breath “You’re trying to save me the same way Corazon saved you...”

His body tenses.

“You think if I eat a fruit like yours, I’ll survive just like you did.”

Silence.

“I won’t lose you” he whispers.

Your heart clenches.

You step closer, reaching for his face, cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch immediately, like he’s starved for it.

“Law,” you say softly “You can’t fix this, and it's okay.”

He squeezes his eyes shut “There’s always a way.”

You shake your head “Even if there is… do you really want to spend our last moments like this? Chasing something that might not even exist?”

His breath shudders against your palm.

For the first time, he doesn’t have an answer.

Law is different after that night.

He still spends hours in his office, buried in books, chasing after a cure that may not exist. He still barely sleeps, barely eats, his mind running in endless circles of calculations and medical theories.

But now he makes time for you.

It starts small. Sitting next to you on the deck, staring at the ocean in comfortable silence. Letting you lean against him while he reads, his hand absentmindedly brushing over yours.

Then, it becomes more. Stealing moments with you in the kitchen, pretending to help while you cook, though he mostly just watches you with those quiet, golden eyes. Taking you to watch the sunset, fingers grazing against yours but never quite holding on.

And sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, he smiles.

It reminds you of something he once told you.

“Even now you’re trying to do what Corazon did for you, aren’t you?” you say one night, breaking the silence.

Law tenses beside you.

The two of you are lying on the bed, facing each other. It’s one of the rare nights he actually gets in bed with you instead of falling asleep at his desk. His fingers hover near your wrist, not quite touching, just barely brushing your skin.

He doesn’t answer right away. But you see it in his eyes.

“I’m not like him” he mutters.

You smile, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear “You’re right. From what you told me, he was goofier. More dramatic.”

His lips twitch “That sounds more like you.”

“Maybe,” you hum “But you’re doing exactly what he did. You’re trying to give me happy memories while working yourself to death behind my back.”

His eyes darken.

You brush a hand against his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. He looks exhausted, but you know that no matter what you tell him, he won’t stop.

“You can’t save everyone, Law” you whisper.

His grip tightens around the sheets “I can save you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling softly.

“Then at least promise me something” you murmur.

He waits.

“When I go—”

“You’re not—”

“When I go,” you say again, firmer this time, “I want you to keep going. Don’t disappear. Don’t close yourself off.”

Law stares at you, his expression unreadable.

“You think I could just move on?” he finally asks, voice raw.

“I think,” you say, fingers brushing against his, “that you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t answer.

But later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you feel his hand finally take yours. And for the first time, you wonder who’s more afraid of losing the other, you or him.

For the first time in weeks, Law looks alive.

He bursts into the Polar Tang’s main room, eyes sharp, steps quick, movements filled with purpose. His coat flares behind him as he scans the room, spotting the Heart Pirates scattered around, Shachi and Penguin bickering, Bepo munching on a snack, Ikkaku polishing her tools.

“All of you,” he orders, voice firm, urgent “Meeting. Now.”

The crew blinks at him.

“Whoa, Captain, you good?” Penguin asks, tilting his head “You look—”

“Awake,” Shachi finishes “Which is weird, considering you haven’t slept in days.”

“Meeting. Now.” Law repeats, already turning toward the control room.

Bepo exchanges glances with the others before nodding “Let’s go.”

Within minutes, the crew is gathered. The room is tense, because they can feel it. Something has changed.

Law places both hands on the table, looking at them with determination burning in his golden eyes.

“I’ve found a cure.”

Silence.

Then Penguin nearly chokes “Wait, what?!”

“You...” Shachi’s eyes widen “You’re serious?”

Bepo’s ears twitch “Captain…”

Law nods, rolling out a hand-drawn diagram of an unknown Devil Fruit.

“It’s called the Vita Vita no Mi,” he explains “A Devil Fruit that enhances the body’s ability to regenerate and purge diseases. It was recorded in old medical texts from over a century ago, lost, believed to be a myth. But I found something.”

He flips to another page.

“There were reports of this fruit appearing in a black-market trade just over a decade ago. Tracked to an island in the Grand Line.” His gaze hardens “We’re going there.”

The crew stares.

“You mean—” Ikkaku leans forward “You mean there’s a chance?”

“A damn good one,” Law says “If I can get my hands on this fruit, if I can modify its effects, then Y/N...”

He stops. Swallows.

“Then she survives.”

The weight of his words hits the crew all at once.

Shachi exhales sharply “Tell us what you need, Captain.”

Penguin nods “We’re in.”

Bepo clenches his fist “We’ll get that fruit.”

Law looks at them, the family he’s built, the people who trust him without question.

“Set course,” he orders “We leave now.”

And for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s hope.

The ship cuts through the Grand Line’s turbulent waters, the Polar Tang moving faster than it has in weeks. There’s a sense of urgency now, an undercurrent of hope that the crew has never felt before.

Law is different. His usual calm, stoic nature is there, but there’s a fire behind his eyes, a purpose that drives every action. He barely sleeps, constantly working to map out the island, planning for the worst.

Every night, before he goes to bed, he checks on you. His hands are gentle, his gaze searching, but he says nothing. He only watches you breathe, listens to the soft rise and fall of your chest.

In those moments, you think he’s not sure if you’ll be there when he returns.

But when he talks about the cure, when he speaks of the Vita Vita no Mi, the miracle fruit, you see the fire again. Hope.

And for a while, you let yourself believe.

Days pass. The island is in sight.

Law stands at the bow of the ship, eyes fixed on the shore.

“Keep steady” he commands, his voice cold, calculated.

You’re on the deck, staring at the sky as the island draws nearer. You’ve grown weaker over the past few days. The disease is ravaging your body, and you can feel it. But you smile through it, just like you promised.

Bepo stays by your side, as always. The big polar bear mink is there, standing guard, just as loyal as ever. His presence is a small comfort to you, he’s worried, you can tell, but he never presses.

You want to get up, join the crew, help them find the cure, but Bepo gently guides you back down when you try to stand, his big paw resting on your shoulder.

Bepo says softly “Captain’s got this.”

Law approaches, his figure towering over you, the weight of his gaze unmistakable.

“I’m going with you,” you say, your voice light, teasing “No way I’m letting you get all the glory, Captain.”

He crouches in front of you, his eyes softer than they’ve been in days.

“You’re staying here with Bepo.”

You blink at him “You don’t trust me to keep up with you?”

He smiles, just barely. It’s small, fleeting, but it’s there.

“Stay here, please.” His voice is quiet, almost a plea.

You want to argue, but the look in his eyes stops you.

You smile at him, though the effort is exhausting “I’ll just be here… waiting.”

The crew disembarks, heading into the thick jungle, with Law leading the charge. The air is thick, the path winding and treacherous. It’s as though the island doesn’t want them to succeed. But they don’t stop.

The days blur together as they search, scouring every inch of the land, every forest, every cave. Law is relentless. The fruit is out there. He knows it. He can feel it.

And then a blast of sound cuts through the jungle, a distant rumble that echoes in the air. Law’s eyes widen, his body tensing. Without a word, he sprints while teleporting himself.

The crew follows quickly, but the jungle seems to twist itself around them, the path becoming harder and more dangerous as they go.

Law doesn’t care. He’s focused on one thing now: getting back to you.

You’re lying on the deck, growing weaker by the minute, your breath shallow. You know the end is near.

But Bepo stays with you, his warm presence a steady anchor. He’s the one who brings you water, who keeps you from slipping into a fevered daze. He’s the one who makes sure you’re comfortable, even as your body is slowly shutting down.

“Hang in there,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face “Captain will bring the cure back. I know he will.”

You want to reassure him, to tell him not to worry, but the words won’t come.

You reach for his paw weakly, and he holds your hand with surprising tenderness.

Hours pass. The night grows darker, and the crew has yet to return. The air is thick with tension.

Finally, the sound of heavy footsteps reaches the deck.

Law appears, drenched in sweat, his face hard but his eyes alive.

“Y/N…” His voice cracks as he kneels beside you, his hands immediately going to your face, checking for fever, your pulse.

“You found it?” you whisper, barely able to speak.

He nods, not trusting his voice. He opens his pack, pulling out the Vita Vita no Mi, the fruit wrapped carefully in cloth.

But before he can do anything, you stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“Law… don’t…” You cough, a weak laugh escaping you “I don’t know if it’ll work… if it’s too late…”

“No,” he insists, his voice desperate “It will work. I won’t let you—”

“I just wanted to be with you,” you whisper, the words barely audible “I wanted to see you happy… with me.”

Bepo steps back, his heart heavy, but he’s still there, watching over you.

Law hesitates, his eyes locked on yours. The fruit still rests in his hand, but he can’t bring himself to do it—not yet.

“Please,” you whisper, weakly gripping his hand “Just stay… stay with me.”

He looks at you, the flicker of fear in his eyes, fear of losing you, the same fear he’s been running from since Corazon.

“I won’t leave you,” Law says softly “I promised, remember?”

The crew now waits in the background, hearts clenched in their chests. They don’t speak. They don’t breathe.

The night stretches on, heavy with anticipation. But nothing happens.

Law continues to hold the fruit, watching you closely, waiting for a sign, a flicker of hope. But you’ve grown so still. The seconds feel like hours, and when Law finally lifts the fruit to your lips, your eyes flicker open again, meeting his.

You smile, the faintest of smiles.

“I’m sorry for not being stronger…” You pause, each word coming with effort, but you press on “But you have to live, okay? You have to keep going. Don’t waste your life… Please… don’t waste it… for me.”

His eyes widen in shock, and a single tear slips down his cheek.

“I can’t lose you” he whispers, his voice breaking.

But you just smile faintly, your hand weakly squeezing his “Even if this won't work, I need you to know you already saved me… You gave me this life, this love. Now live it, for both of us.”

Your eyes flutter shut once more, and the world holds its breath.

[lovemomhatepolice]

as a boyfriend - lando norris

navigation taglist requests

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, mention of sex, English is my second language!

summary: how is he acting as your boyfriend?

more content: formula 1 masterlist, lando norris masterlist, latest lando's one-shot, as a boyfriend - charles leclerc, latest oscar's one-shot, as a boyfriend - oscar piastri, as a boyfriend - max verstappen

boyfriend!lando who always cares about your privacy and his, protecting it at all costs

boyfriend!lando who grumbles when you take ages to get ready, but then spends just as long fixing his curls in the mirror and asking if he looks good.

boyfriend!lando who makes fun of you for being sentimental, yet refuses to throw away the first receipt from a date with you because it "feels special."

boyfriend!lando who leans in close when you’re talking, his lips barely brushing your ear as he whispers, “You know I love it when you look at me like that.” [nswf]

boyfriend!lando who wakes up before you and just stares at you, a lazy smile on his lips because he still can’t believe you’re his (even if he is not a morning bird)

boyfriend!lando who texts you “I miss you” even when you’ve only been apart for a few hours.

boyfriend!lando who thinks you have more beauty than models and even begs you every time to pose with him in the new Quadrant merch

boyfriend!lando who pulls you closer in the middle of the night, his voice husky as he mumbles, “Can’t sleep. Guess we’ll have to do something about that.” [nswf]

boyfriend!lando who tucks you under his arm whenever you’re out, keeping you close like you might disappear if he lets go.

boyfriend!lando who loves to take you to his family and is overjoyed that you have such a good relationship with them because you are the most important thing in the world to him

boyfriend!lando who always thanks you on the radio after winning a race, talking about how much of a mental support you play in his career and dedicates every victory specifically to you

boyfriend!lando who can’t stop himself from kissing your forehead, your nose, your cheeks—anywhere, just because he loves the way you smile when he does.

boyfriend!lando who doodles little hearts in the corner of your notebook when you’re not looking, then acts like he has no idea how they got there.

boyfriend!lando who ate sushi with you for the first time in his life (ate is too much to say - he just touched it lightly with his tongue and by now he's pleading that he almost threw up in there)

boyfriend!lando who takes photos of you when you’re not looking, because he swears you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

boyfriend!lando who tugs you into his lap whenever you sit next to him, not because he needs to, but because he wants to be as close as possible.

boyfriend!lando who acts as if he wants to kiss you sweetly, but instead licks your cheek

boyfriend!lando who acts cocky, but the second you pull his shirt over his head and press your lips to his skin, his breath stutters, and suddenly, he’s the one begging. [nswf]

boyfriend!lando who makes the dumbest dad jokes, then looks at you expectantly until you laugh. “Come on, that was a good one!”

boyfriend!lando who hates sleeping apart after an argument, so even if you’re mad, he’s sliding under the covers next to you, pulling you into his chest.

A/N: please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

something short and it's the first time I've written something like this, but I hope you like it! feedback always welcome <3

[yulin-pop]

⤷ ✧ 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

order 89 | one-shot| Jade+Floyd | Fem reader

❀ NOTE: sorry to keep @kkalimarii waiting for this, a bit rushed but I hope my vision was visioning. While I was gone you dropped new art (now I have to go write a fic for it too LOL)

You hesitated before walking through the door, you looked down at yourself before looking back to which Floyd smiles at you.

He leans down to your level, “Are ya scared or something?” You shake your head then you feel a hand on your back.

“You have nothing to be afraid of.” Jade flashes a pristine smile.

“There’s a lot to be afraid of which includes you!”

Jade’s hand pushes you in and the door slams behind you. You held your breath as you walked down the hall.

“Make sure to smile and introduce yourself.” Floyd said, whispering in your ear.

You cry in your head, looking back at the decisions that brought you to a Leech family get together.

~

“Hey Shrimpy,” Floyd called while wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind you, “Are you busy this weekend?”

You were startled but you figured Floyd would pop up eventually since you’re in Mostro Lounge, just dining alone. You put down your phone, you knew there was no getting out of a conversation with Floyd. “As far as I know, not at all.” You looked up at him.

“Cool, you’re coming with me then.” Then he walked off. He was unpredictable as always, you couldn’t begin to think what he was going to drag you into. Your calls to him for more context and to come back were useless.

You figured you’ll ask him about it the next time you see him.

The door swung wide open and Floyd slumped down on the chair. “Jade, tell Ma and Pops we have a plus one for this weekend.”

The other twin nodded his head, “I almost let it slip my mind. Who did you decide to invite?”

“I just walked out and saw Shrimpy sitting there so I picked her.” Floyd laughed.

You were pretty much clueless on what event you’d be attending until you got a text from Jade.

Jade

I’ve cleared us to leave campus for this weekend with the Headmage. Rest assured in that regard. Meet us in the mirror room Saturday at 3 PM. Of course, dress in formal attire.

You

Okay

But one little thing

Where are we going?

Jade

Apologies for not informing you sooner

You’ll be joining us for our annual banquet, an important day for our family.

You

What are we celebrating?

Jade

The banquet is to honor the alliance and uphold the relations between families.

You

???

You didn’t know what to think, it seemed like one big joke everyone knew about but you. You knew it was too late to back out. “Do I even have any formal clothes?” You asked yourself out loud, Ace leaned over and skimmed over your texts with Jade.

“What’s happening with you and the twins?” He was just as surprised as you were. You pushed him away from your phone and pulled it close to your chest.

“I don’t even know. Floyd asked if I was busy this weekend and said I’m going somewhere with him. Apparently it’s a family banquet?”

“I’d be scared if I were you. You know what I heard about their family?” He brought you in closer to whisper in your ear. "I hear they’re even more messed up than Octavinelle. The only reason they got so powerful and rich was taking out other families, like literally taking out. Before they were two rival families that were brought together because the son and daughter fell in love. Now the two most influential families fused to become that thing.”

You gasped and covered your mouth before leaning in to ask a question. “So they’re like… aquatic mafia?”

Ace nodded his head in all seriousness.

“And I’m gonna meet them this weekend?! I wonder what they’re like in person.” You put your hand on your chin and thought.

Maybe one eye color came from the mom and the other came from the dad. Most likely the twins took after their dad the most in appearance and height. The mom can’t be that tall, probably wears heels to compensate. Maybe she wears fur coats and scarves like the mafia wives do in movies. You couldn’t even begin to think how they would act, given they raised the Leech twins and they’re mafia.

You snapped back from your thoughts and you realized Floyd had his arm around you while Jade put his hand on your shoulder, both slightly shaking you.

You tilted your head up and laid your eyes on a muscular man with sunglasses, you couldn’t see his eyes but you were certain his glare alone would kill a man, there were several notable scars across his face making him even more menacing. His hair was two toned but grey and blue unlike the twins. They seem to have hair more like the tall woman with flawless skin. You could tell she doesn’t need makeup to stand out. When you look closer, her sharp features like her eyes and nose were much more alike to the twins. She was adorned with pearls and gold that you knew couldn’t be fake. Despite her extravagant heels, she still wasn’t as tall as her husband. Her mouth curled into a giant smile.

“Oh this is the girl.” She cooed, “I already know your name.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She’s beautiful!

“Hello it’s nice to meet you my name is [name]—“ You stuck your hand out for a hand shake but the girl pulled you into a hug.

“You two are almost catching up to me now.” The tallest man went over to the twins and simultaneously ruffled the top of their heads. Floyd reluctantly nodded while Jade smiled awkwardly while greeting him back.

You were about to choke from how hard she was squeezing you, it was like Floyd if he wasn’t holding back— actually if Jade and Floyd were both trying to squeeze you at once is a better way to describe it.

Floyd watched and pouted until Jade put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Mom, humans are quite fragile so be cautious with the strength used.” She turned her head and let go of you.

She put her hand against her cheek and smiled, “How silly of me, I’m sorry for that dear. But…” She put her arm around Jade’s neck and brought him into a hug.

Floyd, while trying to fix his hair, was pulled into a hug with the other arm. “I missed your adorable faces. My little boys look so grown!” She cooed.

“I still can’t beat her…”

“I didn’t know you could get any stronger…”

They both remarked in apprehensive voices. Though you were still regaining your breath from her embrace, you thought it was funny how the twins were overpowered by their mom. Though you turned your attention to their father, who you haven’t spoken to yet.

“Hello it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Leech, my name is [Name], thank you for inviting me.” You tried your best to be polite.

Seemingly it worked, “You’re a sweet one, the pleasures all mine. I’ve been wanting to meet you. Besides Azul we hear about you the most.” He was friendlier than he looked. His toothy grin revealed his jagged teeth much like the rest of his family.

You smiled back, “Only good things I hope.”

Once Jade and Floyd escaped from their mother’s embrace, they went up next to you.

“Tell the boys to call home more or text back faster.” Their mom pouted and crossed her arms, “But I guess they forget or are too busy anymore… I’m sure whatever it is, they're doing it related to their education.”

You smiled, they really aren’t aware of their violent tendencies exerted towards their classmates. Though given they’re the ones who raised them it’s likely their fault.

“How are they in class? What sports do you partake in? What foods do you like? Which one do you talk to more? How long did it take until you could tell the two of them apart?” More and more questions bombarded you from the mother alone until her husband came up and gruff yet gentle placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Honey, she can’t understand a word you’re saying.” He softly spoke to her and she covered her mouth in realization. You could make out a smile behind her hand and her husband smiled back gently.

“Apologies for my lack of composure. I’m just happy to hear my boys have friends besides Azul.” She admitted, the twins cranking their heads in response.

“It must be hard for you, poor girl.” Their dad added making their expressions contort.

“Jeez, can’t you lay off for one sec?” Floyd muttered with apprehension before silencing himself. Jade shared a similar attitude but stayed silent. You could tell there was no talking back for them, nobody would talk back to mafia parents after all.

Mrs. Leech grabbed your arms and glided her hands down to yours, “Look at your outfit, dear did no one tell you the color scheme we chose this year?” She fussed for a quick second and turned towards her sons. You couldn’t see her expression but Floyd slouched and Jade avoided her gaze. “No matter, I’m sure we have something that will work. Follow me, we’ll find something.”

She led you away with a brief remark to the rest of her family and left only the men of the family.

“Wearing all white to our banquet it’s like she’s trying to get married to one of y—“

“Don’t get it twisted.”

“It’s not something to be overthought.”

Mr. Leech let out a hard laugh before patting their backs, “It’s lonely without you boys. Your teenage years are precious, so tell me all about it.” He gently moved them.

Jade opened his eyes and spoke up. “All has been adequate. We’ve been sticking by Azul and performing duties as vice housewarden is no chore. I’m happy to have this responsibility.“

Floyd chimed in, “I’ve been focusing on basketball lately, no diff since when you last checked up on us.”

His expression remained unwavered, he leaned in to whisper “Don’t lie, how many fights have you gotten into? Not including each other.”

Father like son and that certainly applies in this situation, but in this case it’s less like fights and more like attacks.

Enough time passed to where Jade began to wonder where you were, Jade and Floyd went off to greet family members. “Hey, Jade, any idea when Shrimpy is coming back?”

“None at all, she’s with Mom after all.” Jade said back then moving to greet other family members. Even realizing Floyd had managed to sneak away.

Floyd skipping out isn’t out of character but he should know better, must’ve gotten bored and went off to find more interesting things.

“Floyd… I told you I still need to change back.” You firmly said but his grip on your wrist only tightened.

He didn’t even look back at you, “Mama wouldn’t let you change out of it, you look too good anyway.” He stated.

You coughed at his words, “What did you say?”

He stopped and looked back at you, “I said my mom wouldn’t let you and you look good in that dress.”

Your eyes flickered between him and his hand at your wrist, you thought too deeply into his words. He’s just saying that as flattery, or as a joke. It’s not something to be taken seriously but you couldn’t deny how warm your face felt.

“Let me introduce you to my family, they all want to know about you, Shrimpy.” He pulled you along again with no resistance on your end. He tugged you along until he felt you stop, he smiled back but realized where the real resistance came from.

Jade gently intertwined his fingers with yours and stood firm. “There you two are, I was feeling so lonely.”

“Jade!” Both you and Floyd called out with different tones.

Floyd, with a tug of his arm, groaned and pulled you closer, “Butt out you prick…”

Jade, with a defiant step, laughed and got closer to you two with the same grip on you, “You need to greet everyone else yourself, don’t be rude. May I add, you look stunning in that dress. It’s a blessing to see you like this.”

You couldn’t react with how your wrist was being crushed by one and the other being squeezed until it was numb, you couldn’t feel either of your hands.

The proud parents of two stood far from the sight but undoubtedly focused. “Hard to believe Floyd has the upper hand in this. I always thought Jade was more of a lady’s type.” The mother of the twins said with a hint of pride and sarcasm.

“That may be true, they may be very different but if you look closer they’re very similar too.”

“Ah, so basically they have the same chances?”

Just as the father opened his mouth to speak, Floyd tugged at you hard enough for you to trip over your own feet only staying off the floor thanks to Jade’s reflexes.

“[Name], are you alright?” Jade said before looking back at Floyd.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you just let go!” Floyd said in response to his glare.

His father then spoke up again, “More or less.”

[msilverstar]

transcription:

FOREWORD: BUCKY BARNES (by Sebastian Stan, Spring 2025)

I remember standing up on a ladder, sweating, in the middle of a take on a hot day in Palmdale, California, on the set of The Apparition. They were doing a camera reload, I think, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and looked at it: "Unknown caller I.D." "That can never be important," I thought. I let it go to voicemail.

We got the take and, in fact, continued to shoot for another few hours until, finally, I remembered, "Oh right, I had a voicemail." | took out my phone and brought it to my ear, expecting a telemarketer, only to hear, "Hey, it's Kevin. From Marvel. We'd love for you to do Bucky. If you're up for it. Give a call back." My heart stopped. My knees got weak. No way. Impossible. Earlier that day, someone had played a prank on me, stating, "It's April 1st! APRIL FOOLS' DAY!" Was this a joke or the real Kevin Feige?

It's an understatement to say my life changed that day: April 1, 2010. In three months' time, I was to go to London and start filming Marvel Studios Captain America: The First Avenger as Bucky Barnes.

It's insane for me to admit I didn't know anything about good old James Buchanan Barnes before my Captain America screen tests - which were for Steve Rogers, not even Bucky Barnes. I just didn't grow up with comic books, but I immediately had to dive in. I had a lot of catching up to do - including reading the convention-breaking series by Ed Brubaker and Steve Epting that revived Joe Simon and Jack Kirby's long-dead creation and started his journey as the Winter Soldier. Now, fifteen years later, I'm here trying to impart some wisdom. Life is crazy. I've never known it any other way. And neither has Bucky.

I think the thing I've loved most about Bucky all these years is that he always keeps me guessing, in one way or another. Every time I think I have him figured out, he keeps surprising me. Sometimes, I don't know what he's going to do next. What he wants from this life next or if he even knows - like most of us, I guess. Part of the reason is that he never really had a choice. I always felt that, at the end of the day, he enrolled in the Army back in the '40s mainly to protect his best friend, Steve - to go on with him and fight the good fight and keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't get hurt. After all, Steve kind of was the only family he ever had. At least, it felt that way to me.

Bucky was always a real human being to me. A young man trying to figure out his purpose - and before he could, he was captured, brainwashed and turned into a fighting machine. A Manchurian candidate, to some extent. Held against his will. Given a new identity. And for the wrong team. Bucky Barnes is all of us. And that's why Pretty intense for a comic book if you ask me. And yet real. I've never questioned why so many people related to Bucky or why so many former soldiers approached me about him, saying, "I know what he went through..." But I just knew he was real. People connected to him in a deep, profound way.

As we know, Bucky eventually regains his memory and thus all his "sins" along with it, leaving him more lost than ever and full of guilt and shame. How does he go on? How does he accept his past?

I think, for me, this was always incredible to explore, because this is a very real thing. It's human. We all must do this in life - confront our past - and some are braver than others, while others fight and run from it. But this struggle to embrace the past and move forward is something I think has always rang true about Bucky, and it's also something many people understood.

Without a doubt, he is one of the most fascinating characters I've ever played. Alongside him for fifteen years, I have met life as best as I could and questioned life as much as I could - and I feel we have grown together as a result. He's my brother, in a way. The brother I never had. And he's taught me a lot.

Bucky Barnes is all of us, and that's why he will always live on. He understood that the only way out is by going back in and truly confronting yourself. By doing so, he achieved his freedom. The freedom he lost back in the '40s. I could go on and on because he fascinates me, and I feel so blessed to have been given the chance to play him. I'm so grateful for that day: April 1, 2010. It changed my life. Thank you, Kevin.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER [MARVEL PREMIER COLLECTION] (Amazon link) by Ed Brubaker. Features an exclusive foreword by Academy Award-Nominated actor Sebastian Stan

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER [MARVEL PREMIER COLLECTION] by Ed Brubaker Features an exclusive foreword by Academy Award-Nominated actor Sebastian Stan

[shouts-into-the-void]

Montresor caring about Will didn't come out of nowhere, Lenore was just mad: a biased completely unbiased post

The thing we need to remember as a rule is that Montresor's default personality is rude and antagonistic even when he's not actively trying to be an aggressor, which means you have to look at what he means rather than necessarily the things he says. He's a clear victim of abuse, who reacts to feelings trapped, cornered, threatened, panicked, or humiliated by lashing out. From what I have gathered, it seems like his mother may have been the type of person who was nice one minute, then became abusive at the drop of a hat, and/or acted loving while claiming she "had to do this for his own good", and he was clearly raised in a very strict religious environment where he didnt have a lot of control/was punished for things he couldnt help. As a reaction, Montresor tries to force an aggressive response out of anyone he feels threatened by, because at least then it's predictable and he feels in control. Okay, great, Montresor analysis out of the way, moving on.

Our first real look at Will and Montresor as a unit is when the clusterfucks (side note: I've seen a lot of people calling them the acoleets now? Far less funny, absolutely not) are discussing their spectres. During this conversation, Montresor is actually hyping Will up, and even when he agrees with Ada that is sounds useless, he makes sure to assure him that it "looks really cool though."

We only really see Montresor become outright violent and dangerous once it's revealed that only one person can win a new life. We see him actively panic about it, and while we don't really get a lot more context for him yelling at Will in the moment, I think its relevant that this is the moment when he starts treating Will less nicely, because now it's a competition and everyone else is potentially out to get him. Hell, he even immediately begins joking around with Will after telling him to shut up, so it's clear that he's acting out of stress and fear immediately after the revelation.

The interaction that immediately follows this is the incident with Morella and Ada, and I find it notable that Montresor goes out of his way to include Will. (when he makes sure to let you get your turn humiliating a woman to prove her loyalty to the group #romantic 🤡)

Later, during the Spectre vs. Students lesson, when Berenice bites Will and he asks for help, Montresor immediately tells her to leave him alone. While he seems mildly annoyed with Will the whole time (kind of understandably, because Will keeps screwing up the plan) he only says anything particularly horrible after Berenice slashes him across the face with her knife, which clearly pisses him off in general. We see him letting Will nap on his shoulder afterwards, which isn't super important I just think it's cute.

Montresor clearly sees them as a unit, as he still involved Will with the plan despite Will messing up the previous night with Duke and stops Will from helping Annabel with Ada despite not having a real reason to do so by saying "We'll sit this one out." Like it should have gone without saying that if he's not doing it, Will isn't either. Then the next day, the fact that Montresor comes to get Will specifically so they can walk to breakfast together? Knows what his toothbrush looks like and goes out of his way to give it back? The little flick on the forehead when he calls him a churchmouse? That he picks up on Will's distress and immediately goes to collect Ada to save him? I see you, fake-ass idgafer.

Which brings me to my next point, which is that it is Lenore on her enraged, vengeful tirade who claims that Montresor hates Will. She claims it's due to his behavior towards Will when he came to get him, but I think its pretty clear she only says it to upset Will. And Will can't think of anything nice Montresor's ever done for him because he's stressed, thinks he's about to get shot, and his self-confidence is super low. He even addresses the fact later that Montresor goes out of his way to save him all the time.

I also think now is a good time to point out that Montresor only seems to physically hurt Will in any significant way when he's been having a flashback. His expression when he comes out of his death flashback to find himself attacking Will is shocked, and while he doesn't apologize, his response does come across as apologetic. He has a similar expression when he wakes up from Ada's vision choking Will, only he looks incredibly panicked that time because he'd done actual damage. The expression on his face when Lenore points out what he's done is pained. I think this runs back to Montresor telling Will not to touch him, I'm pretty sure part of his trauma revolves around physical touch and when he's having an episode of PTSD/not fully aware of his surroundings he lashes out instinctively at the person touching him, which unfortunately means Will, who is a very physically affectionate person (man has 13 siblings and it shows.) Which is unfortunate, because I think Montresor also seems to be a very tactile person, and he actually goes out of his way to be touching Will a lot.

Another interesting thing? Montresor only ever addresses Will by name, which is very significant with context. The nicknames Montresor gives people are meant to mock them, so by only using Will's name it subtlely signals that he holds him in higher respect (or at least in more genuine regard) than the others. In Will's flashback, Sally–someone who went to school with him and was in all the same classes–doesn't remember his name, only that he's one of many Wilson siblings. So for Montresor, who can't even remember his "ace in the hole" and current fling's name, to be constantly making it a point to say he knows who Will is, is a great indicator of his actual feelings. By contrast, Will calls Montresor "Monty" exclusively, the only nickname he receives that is genuinely affectionate and something he never attempts to make him stop calling him.

Which pretty much brings us back to the events of the current episodes, which I've already talked about the significance of in another post. I know this is probably insanely biased for multiple reasons and im sure theres a bunch of little tidbits I've forgotten , but do with it what you will.

[aflockofravens]

Okay, dick jokes aside I wanna talk about the consent and power dynamics in this scene.

Spoilers under the cut

When Maomao pushes too far in trying to avoid whatever Jinshi is trying to tell her, she lands a few low blows that clearly irk Jinshi. She even mentions it later, after Lihaku finds them and Jinshi is upset with her, that he takes pride in his appearance and that maybe she had gone too far when she insulted his frog.

Despite how gently he lays her down before asking her if he should just show her, Jinshi's reaction here is purely based on ego and pride. It's not the lovelorn fingertips to Maomao's lips we saw after he let her leave the Rear Palace, or the way he held her when he carried her out of the temple after she saved his life.

This reaction isn't a cute, dark fantasy morally grey male character pinning the female heroine against a wall before kissing her, either. This reaction is frustration at Maomao dismissing him and his feelings and the important thing he's trying to tell her AND insulting his (literal) manhood on top of it. This reaction is Jinshi disregarding Maomao's words and very clear body language and touching her without permission, violating her personal space, and almost kissing her in a very compromising position while alone. This sort of situation can - and has - ruined many other female characters' reputations, even before you take into consideration that 1) Jinshi is technically her employer and 2) he's the second most powerful person in the entire kingdom.

The power dynamic is already skewed before you take those last two points into consideration, a fact that Maomao is VERY much aware of, and has mentioned - directly or indirectly - many times before.

And listen. I am a JinMao truther, I ship them so hard you guys, but I am so glad that the kiss was interrupted because this was not the way their first kiss should have gone. Maomao wasn't fighting back or saying No because she couldn't. She believes it genuinely dangerous to do so. She might have let Jinshi do whatever he wanted to her, because to object might mean her execution.

It's not a healthy start to any relationship. And it certainly isn't cute or romantic. And while I don't believe that Jinshi was malicious in his intent, he still has a long way to go before he understands the double standards that he and Maomao are each held to, and that he can't just do whatever he wants whenever he wants.

Additionally, EVEN IF Maomao did return Jinshi's feelings (she doesn't) and EVEN IF there wasn't this insane power imbalance (again, boss and literal prince), say it with me folks:

IF IT ISN'T ENTHUSIASTIC, IT ISN'T CONSENT.

I want to see JinMao happen as badly as anyone else but not at the expense of Maomao's comfort or bodily autonomy.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You're shoving rolls of socks and various coloured and patterned ties into his roadie bag when he finds you. Ties that he's never seen before, socks that he knows weren't anywhere near his roadie bag. There's a sort of intent, focused look on your face like this has a level of importance that he couldn't possibly understand.

"Baby, what are you doing?" You look up briefly, only enough to see him leaning against the door frame, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hood of his hoodie thrown up over his head. No fucking socks. Like that man has an aversion to them...which is fine, you tell yourself, it's fine in the house, it's fine on a beach, it's not fine in his goddamn shoes when he's wearing a suit.

"Your packing."

"I'm already packed..." He's certain he got everything done, his suit is hanging up ready to go in its dry cleaning bag, his toiletries the only things left to collect in the morning.

"Clay, 1 tie and no socks is not packing." You roll your eyes at him and it's in that moment that he fully grasps that you're annoyed about it, that somehow his singular tie has irritated you. You, who put up with the long weeks away, the late nights, the schedule that interferes with family events and plans.

"Why do I need more than 1 tie?"

"Because variety is the spice of life and if I see one more picture of you in the same grey suit with the same blue tie I am going to burn that tie." You have such a tight grip on the blue tie in question that Clay briefly wonders if you'll burn it anyway, a level of animosity for a piece of clothing he's never seen before.

"Okay, okay, fine...multiple ties, baby, but the socks?" He's closing the gap between you, pocking at the pile of socks you've put in his bag, more than enough, maybe even too many for the 5 game roadie he's going on.

"You need to wear socks with a suit, I swear to God, Clayton" You snatch back a pair of socks he's pulled from the bag, shoving them back into place like he might be undoing all your hard work.

"Why?" He feels a little stupid asking, like a little boy, but he doesn't get it. Plenty of the guys don't wear socks when they wear a suit, they're wearing sneakers most of the time, it's not really a necessity. Just more things to take on a trip when he wanted to take the bare minimum.

"Clay, it's just...you just have to." You don't know how to explain that socks were just something you wore with a suit, that his ankles needed to be covered. Mostly because you felt like you were starting to sound like a Victorian gentleman obsessed with someone's ankles.

"But..." He stops at the way you breathe out a big sigh. He can tell you're trying to not be irrationally irritated or angry, that you're trying to explain and make him understand why it bothers you without being rude about it.

"Clay, do you want to marry me one day?"

"Of course I do, baby." He's reaching for you like the question itself draws him to you, to hold you, to be reassured that you're still there with him. Clay's hands falling to your hips as he rounds the bed, fingers pressing into you to make sure you're not going anywhere.

"Then you need to wear socks with your suits because if I turn up at that aisle and you're not? I'm rescheduling." Your tone is lighter now, more joking and it eases some of the tension in his shoulders as he starts to form a smile. Socks seeming like a small price to pay for you.

"Not running to Tasmania or something?"

"No, rescheduling until you put on some socks." You're joking, but you also mean it. You can't explain why it matters so much that he wears socks with his suits, just that it does...a little detail that feels like it's vital even though in reality it's really not.

"Okay...socks with the suit, got it."

"I'm doing this because I love you."

He sighs heavily even as he's grinning down at you and the way you wrap your arms around his neck, "I love you too, baby."

[tuttle-did-it]

Fascinating. Odo always came off to me as aro/ace as he was so insistent in the earlier years that he just couldn't comprehend why anyone would be romantically or physically involved. There's always room along various spectrums to move, so it's fine that Odo changed, but he did seem genuinely baffled why anyone would bother with any of that.

And I certainly would have liked to see agender/nonbinary variations of Odo, I always found it very strange that Odo could be any gender representation possible, and just chose to have the same face and body every day. Which, as an agender/non-binary trans person, I find baffling.

Would have much preferred Jadzia and her bi/pan more highlighted. (Especially as the reason given for her and Lenara unable to be together was because of Trill rules that hosts can't carry lives/relationships you had in previous lives (which honestly seems like the stupidest rule I can think of). That made zero sense, because Sisko already knew her as Curzon. But at least they didn't kill Lenara, especially as this particular era was so heavy on the Bury Your Queers trope. So... good job? I guess? But still, it didn't make sense. Especially because the first thing Ezri does is go to DS9 where Jadzia's former husband and all her best friends live? That was baffling to me.)

I would have also wanted to see more of Jadzia and gender perormativity/genderfuck. As a young queer person watching her as I grew up, Jadzia was the first trans-coded character I saw on television who was not a JOKE or comic character. (you guys know how much I love Klinger. But they invented him for a joke. And you know I love Bugs, but again, he was a comic character and the joke was that he wore dresses often. I loved them both. But they were invented as a joke.)

Having someone whose sexuality and gender representation were a NOT jokes was a huge deal to me. And that all of Jadzia's friends just totally accepted her without question, and how easily she could just say 'when I was a man....' without anyone trying to murder her was actually huge. ESPECIALLY considering how many shows I saw as a kid had a trans coded/gender queer/gender non-conforming/person in drag were shown as psychopaths and murderers in police procedurals and crime shows. So Jadzia, as a trans-coded character, was a HUGE deal to me. And thank you Terry Farrell for leaning into that and often talking about how much that means to her on a personal level when queer/enby/trans people talk to her and tell her how important Jadzia was.

Garak/Bashir... I love, LOVE their relationship. One of my favourite relationships in most of the TV i've seen. I wouldn't have minded if it had just been confirmed casually. Even if they had an open relationship, just a casual acknowledgement (probably from Bashir).

Or, you know... NOT had them attempt to pretend Garak (in his 50s) is in a flirtation/question situationship with Ziyal (who is still or barely out of being a teenager-- and the daugher of someone he hates). That was... yeah. Didn't work for me. What that felt like to me was the Powers That Be became annoyed at how many fans were convinced Bashir and Garak were lovers, so they ordered the writers to try to break that up by bringing in a teenage/very young Cardassian woman.

If he and Bashir adopted her or something, I would have hated it less. But that relationship-- even if read on a friendship level where she has a crush and he's like no I am way to old for you also my husband will mind.

Ziyal should have been connected with Jake. He's a writer, she's an artist. They would have made so much more sense than trying to suggest that Ziyal and Garak were even remotely possible.

I would have also hoped more of the O'Brien polycule would have been addressed. Because the polycule is one of my absolute favourite things about DS9.

(I don't mean any of this to be hateful or negative. I love DS9. But I still do have a few thoughts about it all. DS9 was certainly the queerest of the Treks-- and as queer (in many ways) watching, it had a huge impact on me. So I'm grateful for what I did get. Thank you. )

Finished DS9 recently, and it's the first trek i've watched. Super obsessed with it btw. If you had written this more recently, would you have tried to have characters be canonically gay/bisexual/lesbian? If so, who? (You're probably going to say Garak and Bashir and I know it)

Just to avoid expectations...

Dax is canonically bi, so nowadays, we'd definitely play into that more.

Also, given his nature, Odo should be pan. I don't think the Founders actually have gender. They only pretend to when they find it useful.

I honestly love the Bashir/Garak dynamic so much, I don't know if I'd really want to change it. Maybe we'd be more overt. But Garak doesn't really do "overt," and that's part of his charm.

[itsraceweekbitches]

LOVEBOMB

summary: You have a manic episode and say things to Max that you don’t really mean. Now it’s time to heal and figure out how to move on. ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 2.7k ✤ tags: fem!reader, reader has bipolar disorder ✤ note: The fic is based on Nessa Barrett’s song lovebomb. Yes, I know, she has BPD and it’s about that, but I have no personal experience with it, ‘cause I have bipolar disorder. Song recommendations: lovebomb as previously mentioned, then Kelly Clarkson - Sober.

“That was my WDC trophy! Are you fucking insane?!”

“I don’t give a fuck about your trophy, Max, just answer my question! Or you know what? Fuck it. God, I hate you so much…”

Just like every other couple, you get into fights too. Sometimes over something silly, like who left the upcoming dinner on the kitchen island where the cats could reach it, or bigger ones when you accuse the other of deliberately forgetting an important engagement you’ve planned ages ago.

But that night? It was different. It was intense, and that might be an understatement. You don’t really remember what set you off. Maybe it was something he said without the intention of upsetting you, but he still managed to pull the pin and make you explode. 

Your emotions were running high, the words were flowing out before you could realize exactly what you were saying, and you didn’t even bother to read his expression to know just how much they hurt him. If you had paid attention, you would have known just how bad things were.

Yet, you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. 

Your brain was in overdrive, so many thoughts running through it that you couldn’t even keep track, and the sudden anger pushed your love for him out of the way. 

Max had enough. He told you to message him when you calmed down, until then he was going to give Daniel a visit. And even that wasn’t enough for you to realize just how bad things were, all because you couldn’t keep yourself on a short leash. 

Instead of begging for his forgiveness, you threw some clothes and a few essentials into a suitcase, then headed to a hotel where you were planning to stay until he apologized. Because you didn’t think you were at fault here, not at all. In your mind, it was Max who caused this whole mess, so it was his job to fix things.

It takes you a week to calm down enough to think rationally, to realize maybe it wasn’t his fault but yours. He didn’t mean to hurt or upset you, that was nothing more but an innocent comment, a misfired joke, no more. 

Anxiety slowly fills your brain, especially when you sneak into your shared home to grab a few more clothes along with some belongings that you need now. Without realizing it, you begin to move out, piece by piece. You wonder if he notices—if he cares to notice. Or is he still mad at you? You couldn’t blame him if he was. 

One day, you pick up your phone and open the messaging app you always use, and type a quick message. You don’t expect an answer, of course, you just want him to know what’s on your mind. Just to be sure, in case he’s willing to bury the hatchet.

You: I’m sorry. I really am.

As you expected, there’s no response, but you honestly can’t blame him. It’s just a simple I’m sorry, what’s there to say to that? Maybe one day you’ll have more to say, maybe you’ll have a plausible explanation to what’s happening to you. 

Because earlier that day you had lunch with your best friend, who pointed out things you hadn’t noticed yourself. “Look, don’t get me wrong, you know I love you, but maybe Max didn’t deserve this,” Gisele said cautiously, clearly walking on eggshells. Your friend let out a sigh as she turned her coffee cup around. “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve been… weird lately. You’re irritable, you tend to hurt those you love, you say you can’t sleep, you speak really fast, and you make rushed decisions,” she explained what she had noticed.

Now that you thought about it, she might have been right, and maybe Max noticed too, which eventually led to this big fight between the two of you. “That bad, huh?” you asked quietly, your eyes fixed on your hand that fidgeted with the napkin.

Gisele nodded with a sigh. “I’m saying this as a friend: visit a psychiatrist.”

You decided to take her advice, and so now you’re waiting for the evaluation of the conversations and tests you did at the beginning of this process. It’s been five weeks since that night, but at least now you’re near the finish line, soon you’ll know if there’s something wrong with your brain. 

On a Thursday, shortly after you watch the press conference at the track, you begin to type. It’s not a long message, it’s just a quick update about seeking help and a simple good luck this weekend. As it happened the last time you texted him, the message is left on read, there is no answer from Max. Once again, you can’t blame him, if you were in his shoes, you would be cautious too.

It’s the weekend of the Chinese Grand Prix when he receives yet another message from you, and Max hesitates, having a hard time deciding whether or not he should read it. He read the previous one, he knew you seek professional help, which is good, but is it enough? Let’s say you change, but how long will it last? When will you give up? And even if you won’t give up, what if things go wrong again anyway? 

He hates that he can only think about the worst case scenario, living up to the Doomstappen name, but he doesn’t want to risk giving your relationship another chance, only to end up at the same place. 

And he noticed that your things began to disappear from your shared apartment in the past few weeks, which told him that maybe you don’t want to mend things after all. Maybe you’re just trying to stay friends with him, this is why you keep him updated. Does it hurt? Yes, it does. Because despite everything, despite your changing moods, the highs and the lows, he still loves you. 

Once in his driver's room, he sits on the edge of the bed, then takes a deep breath as he opens the messaging app where your message is waiting, still unread. His thumb hovers above your name, because even though he has made up his mind not long ago, his bravery disappeared now that he’s about to read your message. 

You: Hi. I’m quite sure you don’t care, but I thought I should give you an update. You: But first, there’s another thing. I picked up the last of my stuff from the apartment and gave the keys to Daniel. I’m sorry it took this long, I know you probably wished to throw them out. You: Anyway, the psychiatrist told me the verdict. It’s bipolar disorder, so now I’m taking meds to tackle the symptoms, and I also go to psychotherapy. So far so good. The meds made me a bit drowsy in the first few days, but now things are getting better and better. You: And last, good luck for the weekend. 

Max blows out the air he didn’t even know he’s been holding before leaning back on the bed. How can you think he wants you to move out? He doesn’t want that, not until you talk about how to move on. It should be a proper discussion, a mutual decision, not whatever the hell you’re doing. 

It’s been over an hour since you sent this message, and he knows it’s late back home, but there’s something that’s bothering him. So, without letting himself think too much, he begins to type a message. 

Max: Hey. Glad to hear that. If you moved out, where are you staying now? You: I didn’t think you would respond. Max: I’m full of surprises. So? You: I rented an apartment. Max: You could have stayed. You: After what happened? I needed my own space. 

Shaking his head, Max closes the app and decides to dial your number. It’s ridiculous that you’re communicating in written form instead of talking on the phone like normal people do. As if you weren’t together just a couple of weeks ago, and honestly, you still haven’t discussed what’s next. At this point, your relationship is suspended, not finished. 

One ring. 

Two rings. 

Come on, answer it, he mumbles, as if his life depends on you picking up the phone. 

Three rings. 

And then…

“Max?” you say hesitantly.

Your voice is thin, and there’s something else, a slight raspiness he heard every time you cried. He always hated to see you cry, and even knowing about it is hard for him. Because you were probably crying because of him, and he wasn’t there to comfort you. You’re apart–you’ve been apart for long enough, maybe it’s time to stop this madness and just move on like nothing happened. 

Then again, could he do it? Could he move on just like that? Probably not. There would always be a voice in the back of his mind telling him to run. Your relationship is like a broken vase, no matter how cliché that example is. Even if you fix it, it won’t work the same way anymore. 

He gulps before speaking up. “Yeah, I thought… Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he begins, but then his voice falters, because he simply cannot figure out how to go on.

Lucky for him, you know what to say. “Thanks. Look, I highly doubt sorry could ever cut it, but I meant it. I didn’t realize how bad the situation with me was, from my perspective, it wasn’t that bad. But now I see I was wrong, and I’m working on getting better.”

“I can tell. You sound better.” 

There’s a beat of silence, just enough to let him find the right words. He’s been thinking about you, and he was thinking a lot. He didn’t necessarily want to let go, but he didn’t want to hurry things either. You needed to heal first, everything else was supposed to come after that. This was your top priority now, and he wasn’t about to mess this up for you.

But before he could speak up, you clear your throat. "I... uhm... gotta go. Bye, Max."

The call ends, and he's left there wondering if calling you was the right thing to do. Did he upset you? Did he bring back feelings you tried to push aside?

It’s been three months since your last conversation with Max, since the day you decided to close that chapter of your life for good, and since you began to look for apartments on the other side of the continent. Almost two months since you moved into your new home in Denmark and started to learn Danish. One month since you adopted a dog to have company. And one day since you came back to Monaco to visit Gisele. 

The two of you are sitting at your usual table in the usual restaurant, waiting for the usual order. It’s nice to be back, even if just for a few days. Are you worried about meeting your ex? Not really. You moved on, and you assume so did he. Right now you’re here to spend some time with your best friend anyway, worrying about him is the last thing on your mind. 

“Aren’t you a good boy? I thought you’ll be begging for food the whole time,” Gisele says in a high-pitched voice as she leans down to press her nose to your dog’s. 

It was love at first sight, in fact, your dog decided to ditch you the moment he sniffed your friend’s hand. That little traitor. You don’t miss the look an older woman gives you two, but you just flash a wide grin at her before looking down at your furry son who’s currently enjoying a head massage.

“Oh, trust me, he loves to beg for food,” you note with a laugh. “So, how’s your husband?”

“Away on a fishing trip, thank God,” she replies with a laugh. 

You two spent a big chunk of last month talking about the poor guy, who was just trying to celebrate their anniversary throughout that week. Gisele believed a one-week-long celebration would be an overkill, but you convinced her to agree to cheer up Jeff. Little did she know that her husband gave you a call to ask for your help, because he was devastated after she said no to this the first time. 

An hour later you are both drinking your coffee when your dog gets excited; he stands up, begins to wag his tail so fast it hurts when it hits your arm, and you hear the familiar whimpering sound he makes whenever he meets another dog he likes. When you look down, your blood freezes in your veins, because who wouldn’t recognize Leo Leclerc?

And sure enough, Charles is there on the other end of the leash, giving you a friendly smile when he stops next to you, letting the two dogs get familiar with each other. “Hi. I didn’t know you had a dog,” he says with a laugh before looking down at them. 

While you follow his line of sight, you clear your throat. You knew meeting an F1 driver in Monaco was a possibility, but right on the first proper day here? Damn it. Still, he’s a good guy, you don’t want to go all defensive, especially not now that you’re consciously working on this issue of yours. 

“Hey. Yeah, I adopted him last month. How are you?” you ask with a polite smile. 

You and Gisele watch in shock as he pulls over a chair and sits down next to you. Before you could ask him what he’s doing, he starts talking, saying a lot of things that aren’t even connected and hardly make sense. It seems like he's trying to keep you up, deliberately stalling. But why? Why would he want to keep you occupied? 

Suddenly, Leo gets super excited in Charles’s lap, his tail wagging like crazy as he’s looking at something behind you. Now curious, you turn around, only to see Max stand there a few feet away from you. He looks a little uncertain, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he watches you, but he doesn’t say anything, only flashes an awkward smile at you. 

“Oh, Max, hello!” Charles says with a wide smile, waving at the Dutchman. “Well, I should get going, it was nice to see you again.”

And with that, he stands up with Leo in his hands, then walks away in Max’s direction, exchanging a meaningful look with him. So this was all part of a plan? You glance at Gisele out of the corner of your eye, who’s clutching her glass so tightly you’re afraid it will break. 

He finally walks a little closer, still looking slightly awkward when he stops in front of you. “Hi. I’m Max,” he says, acting like you didn’t know each other. It doesn’t make sense, what the hell is he doing? You give him a confused look, but he only sits down on the chair his friend occupied a minute ago. “You won’t even tell me your name?”

You look over at Gisele, who only shrugs, telling you she has absolutely no idea what’s going on. So, deciding to play along for now, you introduce yourself. Max flashes a satisfied smile at you, then flags down a waiter to order a gin and tonic. 

“Monaco is small, but I don’t remember ever seeing you. Are you from around here? Or are you on a vacation?” 

“Excuse me, I’ll go fix my makeup, I’ll be right back,” Gisele says as she stands up, then walks inside without her bag that has her makeup kit in it. Traitor. 

Meanwhile Max is looking at you expectedly with those blue eyes, head tilted to the side as if he was a curious puppy. He wants you to play along, he’s waiting for an answer, but you hesitate while your mind is in overdrive trying to figure out what is happening. But then you realize what it is. 

A fresh start. 

“It’s a vacation. You look familiar,” you note, engaging in a conversation that resembles your first meeting. 

Maybe it’s time to step out of your new comfort zone, and maybe you should do it for him, and him alone.

[vicolette]

Clueless Genius !

– A/N : ugh that picture of him doing Iñigo's celebration is driving me crazy!!

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, not proofread

"Do y’all think he's dating someone?? Like that one marketing intern"

This mere comment broke the internet within just a day as many, many people (specifically culers) began to analyze every single video that the official FC Barcelona account had posted. The aspects were inspected down to a T and in just one sentence: Lamine was in love.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the teenager was trying to impress someone behind the scenes, showing off his muscles at any given opportunity or cracking a few jokes more often than not. The question only was, why it should be the new marketing intern, who had been working there for just two weeks now.

Well, that was a bit more complicated, yet it was no secret that whenever Lamine had a game, he would look at the stands and search where the staff were. During training session, his gaze would occasionally get drifted away and his attention was no longer on the ball, but on the intern – you.

And today was the day, when everybody could see what was happening behind closed doors.

'BOOM! Exploding Balloons Challenge With Lamine and Kounde!'

"Alright, are you guys ready?" The man behind the camera asked, namely Adam, who was going to film the video. While Jules was as determined to win yet relaxed as ever, Lamine had some struggles with his outfit, or rather his jersey.

"No, it looks weird." He muttered as he looked at the mirror that you were holding up, but Adam had already begun to film by accident. Before he could stop the camera from taking the scene into view, Lamine spoke up again. "Y/n, be my savior."

A sigh left from your mouth at his demand, nonetheless placing the mirror down and getting a bit too close for comfort. Kounde raised his eyebrows at the sight, taking in how nonchalant you were doing this.

In comparison, Lamine was a blushing mess with even the tip of his ears being red, a nervous smile on his face as he tried his hardest not to giggle at how observant you were. You have immediately spotted what the mistake was, whereas the other two didn’t even bat an eye.

"There you go." It was only the collar of his jersey that was somewhat worn confusingly weird (in Lamine’s style), even though nobody would look twice at it. Your eyes inspected whether or not anything else was wrong with him, firstly now noticing his awkward grin. "You good?"

"Mhm. Thanks, sweetheart." A dramatic gasp left from Adam's mouth before he excused himself, although Jules had the very same reaction – eyes wide, lips parted and his mind froze for a second.

"Oh, okay..?" Kounde looked at you up and down, taking in how you looked a bit flustered by the pet name, yet he couldn’t really blame Lamine. It was clear that he has had feelings for you now, but that you two were together, as in being a couple, was bizarre.

"You're crazy." You said after a while, stepping away from him to finally let the video be taken. Adam nodded in response, still in disbelief, yet he firstly then was reminded that he didn’t pause just yet and instantly turned of the camera.

And now, as the video was taken and the media saw the clip, since Adam had 'somehow' mysteriously forgotten to delete the scene, everyone went wild.

"Do you think it was a bad idea?" Lamine asked, his phone buzzing with notifications from his friends and teammates after it was uploaded, yet his attention was rather on your answer.

However, when instead of assuring him that it was a brilliant idea and that no one else could have come up with that, you nodded your head. His ego was already big enough for dating someone so smart and pretty and (whatever other compliment he'd give you daily) – Lamine didn’t need anymore confidence.

"Well, I think it was very important."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

– A/N : the physics exam was más or menos bien (so fluent in Spanish🤞🤞)

[bigtreefest]

Three Misses and A Bliss

Hehee, Ro! Gosh, this lends itself to such a messy good time and I do be in my messy era👀

The question is: who does this beg for?

Based off this ask game

Three Misses and A Bliss

Is this lowkey a spinoff of The Rainmaker?👀 maybe.

Bullrider! Ari Levinson x Reader

He tried, he really did, to somehow get to you, but he didn’t know how. It never seemed to be the right time. He’d never been so drawn to a person, never wanted to be so good for them, and yet you were almost unattainable. Just out of his reach.

The first time Ari met you was at a bar, at some girls night that he couldn’t dare to disrupt. He’d heard too many horror stories from the other riders about groups of women these days. It was better to let you come to him. Which you did, standing by his stool to grab another round for your friends. You had a charming smile, an easy demeanor, laughed at his one-off statements and jokes that others dismissed. And then just like that, you were gone.

Until the next time. Ari hadn’t been having a good day. He got thrown off the bull at the rodeo, scored low, and was ready to take a walk of shame right to the grocery store at midnight. The ice cream aisle called his name to tend to his wounds, both physically and metaphorically. And there you were: right in the cooler next to him, taking the last pint of his favorite. How could he blame you? You had good taste. And far too big of a heart, offering him the carton when you caught a glimpse of his black eye. He politely turned it down, but suggested coffee as a way to make it even. To which you replied that your boyfriend wouldn’t like that very much. So he left it there.

And then there was the time when he saw you at a restaurant. One far too rich for his blood, but a potential new sponsor was wining and dining him. Ari didn’t need to be there that long. He was gonna take the deal with minimal negotiation, when you caught his eye, sitting at a candlelit dinner all alone. You checked your watch for the seventh time in five minutes. That jerk stood you up. Ari accepted the new partnership under the stipulation that they pay for your meal and a ride home.

And then there was today. A really important day for you. Your first shot at a live broadcast as a sports reporter after years of simply writing teleprompter scripts. Your network was a big one, rewarding you with the opportunity to be the first to interview the winner of the bull riding tournament that had taken up the arena all weekend. As you made your way to the podium, you couldn’t help the way your smile grew even bigger than the one you slapped on for TV. The handsome bull rider ran a hand through his sweaty hair and beamed at you, coming right up to the camera despite his reputation for almost never taking interviews. You had to just roll with it, as you read the scrawled cue cards next to the lens.

“Mr. Levinson, what comes next?”

Ari leaned down the the microphone, sparkling blue gaze locking on to yours as he pulled a rose out of the bouquet in his hand and held it out for you.

“Next, I ask a very special lady that I’ve been pining after for months to go on a date with me and seal the deal with a kiss.”

For a second, Ari was the only other thing in the world. You grabbed the stem of the rose out of his hand, furiously nodded, and braced yourself against his chest as he tipped you back, locking his lips with yours.

[missanthropicprinciple]

I am....fascinated...by this exchange in This Side of Paradise...

Kirk, armed with a large metal bar, watches Spock materialize in the transporter room. Jim lashes out to release Spock from mind-altering spores.

Kirk: "Alright, you mutinous, disloyal, computerized, half-breed, we'll see about you deserting my ship."

Kirk knows Spock is probably the most loyal officer on the ship, knows Spock has emotions he just doesn’t express them in the same way everyone else does, and using the term half-breed is something a bigoted jerk might think or say.

Spock: "The term half-breed is somewhat applicable, but computerized is inaccurate. A machine can be computerized, not a man."

Kirk: "What makes you think you're a man? You're an overgrown jackrabbit, an elf with a hyperactive thyroid."

Kirk is clearly resorting to childish jibes because he can’t think of anything to really criticize him for.

Spock, chuckling: "Jim, I don't understand."

Spock is laughing at this point because he knows this is not how Kirk normally acts, so he figures it's a joke or a game.

Kirk: "Of course you don't understand. You don't have the brains to understand. All you have is printed circuits."

Spock is arguably the smartest person Jim knows and is not simply like a computer.

Spock: "Captain, if you'll excuse me."

Kirk: "What can you expect from a simpering, devil-eared freak whose father was a computer and his mother an encyclopedia?"

Kirk is almost talking nonsense, saying whatever pops into his head. The choice of the word simpering is interesting because Spock ingratiates himself to Kirk somewhat but not in a coy way, and Jim knows he’s not a suck-up. Jim doesn’t act like Spock is a freak at all and defends him. He also doesn’t even say things about his ears much or in the same way Bones does.

Spock: "My mother was a teacher. My father an ambassador."

Spock is still calm as he would be generally when insulted but the hint of humor in his voice is fading.

Kirk: "Your father was a computer, like his son. An ambassador from a planet of traitors. A Vulcan never lived who had an ounce of integrity."

Jim is using the word integrity because Spock has great integrity both personally and because of his Vulcan upbringing. This is starting to touch a nerve.

Spock: "Captain, please don't."

Spock is now asking Jim on an emotional level not to hurt him. He is only offended where there is feeling and of course he has deep feelings for Kirk, even if you interpret it as friendship.

Kirk: "You're a traitor from a race of traitors. Disloyal to the core, rotten like the rest of your subhuman race, and you've got the gall to make love to that girl."

It's really interesting that Jim is using the term "make love". From what I remember he doesn't use that phrase to refer to romance or sexual activity, usually referencing sex more obliquely. I could psychoanalyze this that maybe Jim wants to be the one either making love to the woman, being made love to in general, or wants Spock to make love to him. And again, Spock is extremely loyal and not just to Jim. Also, Jim doesn’t consider Vulcans to be sub human, shows them respect, and knows who T’Pau is.

Spock: "That's enough."

Kirk: "Does she know what she's getting, Spock? A carcass full of memory banks who should be squatting in a mushroom, instead of passing himself off as a man? You belong in a circus, Spock, not a starship. Right next to the dog-faced boy."

"Passing himself off as a man" is a particularly painful remark, but again Kirk often defends him against bigotry, talks about how important Spock's human side is, and repeatedly makes testimonials about how much he values Spock. And of course Jim must know Spock is objectively handsome. "Does she know what she's getting?" is interesting too. It could imply that Jim is asking "Does she know what an incredible man she's getting? Will she value you like I do?" but then he turns it into an insult.

Spock bends the metal bar with one blow and bashes Kirk around the transporter room for a bit before Spock suddenly realizes the spores are gone, broken like a fever.

Kirk: "Had enough? I didn't realize what it took to get under that thick hide of yours. Anyhow, I don't know what you're so mad about. It isn't every first officer who gets to belt his Captain several times."

It seems like Jim is saying it took a lot of effort for him not just to figure out what would push Spock over the edge but what to even say to insult him in the first place.

Spock: "You did that to me deliberately."

Spock, to the best of my knowledge, never says someone does something to him. He is also saying that he understands it was a calculated attack and not one stemming from impulsive emotional anger, therefore revealing Jim's true feelings.

Kirk: "Believe me, Mister Spock, it was painful in more ways than one."

Obviously this is played as a joke because Kirk is a pretty battered, but I would like to think it's because Jim truly regrets saying those words. It's written as dual meaning for comic effect but I like to read emotions into it when I can.

Spock: "The spores. They're gone. I don't belong anymore."

This is so sad. Even though the spores are gone he still reveals an emotional response. Luckily Spock does belong on the Enterprise.

Kirk: "You said they were benevolent and peaceful. Violent emotions overwhelm them, destroy them. I had to make you angry enough to shake off their influence. That's the answer, Mister Spock."

Spock: "That may be correct, Captain, but trying to initiate a brawl with over five hundred crewmen and colonists is hardly logical."

Kirk: "I had something else in mind. Can you put together a subsonic transmitter? Something we can hook into the communications station and broadcast over the communicator?"

Jim is not directly addressing the fact that he did this to save Spock. He didn't want to lose him. Yes, he needed Spock to help him save everyone else but Spock is important to Jim personally and belongs with him on the Enterprise.

Spock: "It can be done."

Kirk: "Good. Let's get to work."

Spock: "Captain. Striking a fellow officer is a court martial offense."

Kirk: "Well, if we're both in the Brig, who's going to build the subsonic transmitter?"

Spock: "That is quite logical, Captain."

Jim is going back to his usual way of communicating with Spock: kind, almost jovial, focusing on logic, and giving Spock a purpose because he really needs him as a colleague. He's happy to have Spock back to normal. While Spock regrets losing the spores and his sense of perceived belonging, Jim values Spock in the way he's always known him: Vulcan and human, taciturn and logical.

[syndrossi]

Even though it’s my birthday I decided to give you gift. Was rereading Jon III asos. And when they were talking about the stars it made me want to write this. Funny enough that Jon out of all the povs has the most mentions of the constellations and stars. Must get it from his dad. A short 736 word Drabble written on my phone on the bus enjoy.

Jon shouldn’t have been surprised that his brother woke him up, to see the stars. The night was still and clear, as well as unseasonably warm. And it was a rare treat that they where out of the city, without much protection, just their father and their dragons.

And if there was one thing he knew about Rhaegar was that he loved the stars and the night sky, because he also shared that love. But he was still surprised when Rhaegar had shaken him awake in the dead of night.

“ you wake me up enough in the morning, it’s only fair I get to disturb your sleep.” His brother said with a grin.

“ I wake you up because of important reasons, not trivial things like star seeing.” Jon joked back with no malice as he slid out of the sleeping roll.

The two of them crept out quietly to not disturb Daemon, knowing that he would likely either not allow them to go alone at this hour or not to go at all. And he had the feeling Rhaegar wished it to be just them.

Rhaegar led him to a small clearing which he had already prepared with a blanket upon the ground. And a few fruit he must’ve hidden away. “ I still owe you for the picnic you helped arrange on our last name day.” He joked as they laid upon the ground staring up at the stars.

“ you don’t owe me anything.” Jon said with a small smile as Rhaegar shrugged as he began to point out the stars and the constaluons. Jon listened, they where bright out tonight, although they weren’t as bright as they could be on top of the wall, or in the north the true north.

Jon heart suddenly ached as he remembered a night like this so long ago… for him at least. Where he and Yiggrit had watched the stars together, although underneath sheepskin instead of silk and suck fine clothes. When Rhaegar had finished telling a myth associated with the constatation of the Crown, he spook up. “ you know the free- I mean the wildlings call the Crown the cradle, for they have no need of crowns.”

He saw the flash of excitement and intereste in his brother’s eyes the moment he turned to him. “ you know the names that the wildlings give to them?” He asked full of curiosity, and Jon knew that for a rare moment he knew something that Rhaegar couldn’t know as it was unlikely that any maester would’ve written down the names of the stars of the wildlings and if one did it would be unlikely it would be within the halls of the red keep.

“Yes, i do, at least some of them, learnt them from the wildlings themselves when i rode with them, when under orders i had traded my black cloak for a sheep one.” He pointed up to the stars “ the ice dragon, the moon maid, the shadow cat and the sword share the same name, the swan is the hawk, the galley is known as the fishers boat, the crone lantern is a weirwood tree, and the stallion is known as the horned lord.” He explained as pointed out each constellation he could see.

Rhaegar lessened in wrapped attention. “ and what of the sacred wanderers?” He asked as Jon sighed seeing the red wanderer in the sky, his mind fought to think of a fire kissed spear wife.

“ i don’t know the others, but the red wanderer is known as the the thief. They… say that when the thief is within the moonmaid it’s a auspicious time for a man to steel a woman.”

Rhaegar looked at him with a tilted head. “ steal a woman?”

Jon chuckled “ it’s their way of courting. A man steals a women, if she wants to go with him she puts up a small fight, if she doesn’t, well the woman can fight just as good as any man… “

His brother laughed quietly. “ and let me guess you’d know?”

“ it was a accident… but yes I did steal a woman… she was the one who told me all this.”

Rhaegar laughed again “ I thought, brothers of the watch were not meant to have any wives. And here you go breaking your oaths, I never thought you could.”

Jon shrugged. “ I broke all the oaths, but one to shield the realm of men.”

Awwww, I love the idea that a love of / fascination with the stars is something Jon got from Rhaegar! And then Jon sharing some of his...unconventional knowledge about freefolk customs/mythology back with him.

*coughs at Jon talking to Rhaegar about "stealing" a woman, given the Helen-of-Troy-esque kickoff to Robert's Rebellion*

Sorry about the snow, but hope you had an otherwise nice and cosy birthday!

[baejl]

to the world

exo 10th member

somi makes a special appereance in jungkook's documentary as more than just a friend

masterlist 🌻 requests are open feedback is always important to me!  

"All set to go?" the director asked. 

Somi fixed her posture on the chair, the makeup artist giving her final touches before the actual recording began. When Jungkook invited her to be part of his special documentary before enlisting, they had long meetings and talks. Just the two of them, with their managers, their members.

They were together for more than a year now and things were fine that way. All the necessary people knew of them and Somi wasn’t ready to invite the whole world to have a closer look at their relationship. Other than that, she knew how crazy both their fans can be and that was the last thing she wanted her boyfriend to get worried about, at least, not for now. 

But both Jungkook and Somi knew that was necessary. They couldn’t stay acting like they were rookies and hiding from cameras everywhere. There was already a commotion as she was part of his ‘Standing Next To You’ MV, Dispatch already had enough material of them. So, there she was. Seated in a chair in front of three cameras and, at least, ten people behind them - Jungkook being one of them. 

"Yeah," Somi said. "I’m ready." 

To whoever was watching the documentary, Somi’s presence was revealed following the timeline. She had some parts while they were showing the whole backstage, when she was helping Jungkook in the studio as he insisted her to, but now, it was just Somi. 

Dressed casually — an oversized shirt (probably JK’s), jeans, and sneakers — Somi flashed a knowing smile at the camera, as if saying, ‘Yeah, now it’s time for the tea. The lights dimmed slightly as the camera tightened its focus on Somi. The director gave her a reassuring nod before signaling for the first question.

"So, let’s talk about how you got involved in this project. We saw glimpses of you throughout, helping Jungkook in the studio, even in the Standing Next to You MV. But how did it really start?" the director asked her. 

Somi let out a small chuckle, feeling shy, tilting her head as she thought back. Jungkook, watching from the monitor, arms crossed, with a subtle smile on his lips. 

"It started… a long time ago?" she mused. "We have the same group of friends, and we went to school together. Before anything, we are best friends. I believe that, even if I debuted first, it was so nice to have someone in the same position as I was back then."

"Which was…?" the man asked, trying to deepen the question. 

"We are the youngests in our groups, we fill in pretty much the same positions…" she listed. "And most of all, we debuted at a really young age. Being in the industry we are, having someone like that is crucial."

"I see." the man wrote down something and Somi enjoyed those seconds to wipe the sweat off her hands on her jeans. "So, how did it go from friendship to romance?" 

Somi let out a laugh.

"I mean... I guess it was organic. For me, at least." she answered, wasting no time. "We were always there for each other, we saw each other growing and evolving. I believe the admiration and love we felt for each other was also evolving. For him? He might have a diffrent answer." Somi joked, making some crew members laugh. 

The scene changed and it was now Jungkook’s interview. 

"I was in love with her for, at least, five years before asking her out for the first time." he answered, his cheeks going red. "It was organically, for her.” he laughed.

A few crew members chuckled. Off-camera, Somi’s voice piped in, "Oh, you were suffering."

Jungkook covered his face with his hands, laughing.

A montage sequence plays with a lot of moments the crew was able to get from Jungkook and Somi together. One of them was Somi and Jungkook in the studio, headphones on, lost in their craft. She was harmonizing with him as he laid down a raw vocal take. The instrumental for Standing Next To You blasting on the sound system as they were trying to finish the final details. 

"I don’t think the last part is good though." Jungkook said, rubbing his hair, anxious. 

"Says who?" Somi asked, leaning against the mix board, arms crossed. "Come on, JK. You can’t be serious." 

Jungkook doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he sighs—the kind of sigh Somi knows all too well. The ‘I’m so fucking tired’ sigh. She gets closer to him, hugging him and rubbing his arms as he cuddles her embrace. 

"I’m so tired." he admits. 

Now, a raw, handheld camera clip shows Jungkook and Somi sitting on a rooftop in Seoul, wrapped in oversized hoodies, eating convenience store ramen. The city lights sparkle behind them. 

Somi nudges him with her shoulder. "You overthink too much."

Jungkook sighs, leaning back. "It’s just… people expect so much. I don’t want to disappoint them."

She twirls her chopsticks thoughtfully. “I get it. But, Kook, when was the last time you made music just for you? Not for the charts, not for the fans. Just for yourself?”

Jungkook took another slow bite of ramen, staring out at the skyline. He didn’t answer right away. The neon lights flickered, the sound of distant traffic filling the silence.

Somi grins, changing the subject playfully. "Whatever. If you’re too busy being the Jungkook™, Golden Maknae™, Global Superstar™, at least let me steal one of your songs."

Jungkook bursts out laughing. 

"Absolutely not. I should be doing that. You're a grammy winner."

Back to Somi’s interview, the director looked at his notebook before asking her again. 

"There was a part of the whole production that really stuck with me, where Jungkook says he didn’t know how to slow down, how to breathe until someone told him. I believe that someone was you."

Somi’s expression softened. 

"It wasn’t anything revolutionary," she admitted. "I just reminded him that he’s allowed to be human. To take a break. To enjoy what he’s built instead of always chasing the next thing." 

"Did you ever think you’d be sitting here, in his documentary, as his girlfriend?"

"No," Somi admitted, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "not like this."

The director glanced at his notes before looking back up at her.

"There’s a moment in the footage where Jungkook looks at you while recording, and it’s… different. Like, you’re not just a collaborator, not just a friend. I believe that, if we had let that scene, people would notice that. But have you ever?"

Somi blinked, caught off guard. She let out a soft chuckle, shifting in her seat.

"I—uh, I guess?" she admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I mean, I always knew how intensely he works, how much he puts into his craft. But… I didn’t realize he looked at me like that."

A beat. Off-camera, someone murmured, “Oh, he definitely does.” Laughter rippled through the crew.

Somi covered her face with her hands for a second before peeking through her fingers, laughing. "Okay, next question, please."

The director smirked before flipping to another page.

"Okay. Last one. If you had to describe Jungkook in one word. Not as an artist, not as ‘Jungkook of BTS’—but just him… what would it be?"

Somi’s teasing expression softened. She took a moment, inhaling, exhaling.

"Home." she finally said.

A pause. Even Jungkook, watching from the monitor, stopped fiddling with his sleeve.

"Why?" the director prompted.

Somi smiled, small but certain. "Because no matter where we are, no matter how crazy things get… with him, I always feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be."

A quiet murmur swept through the set.

Cut.

[solmire]

Hero will sacrifice you to save the world, villain will sacrifice the world to save you.

“I am always right here, only for you, my love. Always ready to save you, I am your hero! Do not forget about that.”

After months of cold, warmth always comes back with spring. Trees are not as bald as they were in December, buds on them tell that much warmer days are ahead.

“Look! Those are buds on the trees, warm days are waiting for us, my love.”

Walking around the streets, watching how father buys an ice cream for his little daughter, she is screaming in joy, desiring to be in his arms, and he lets her to be, pushing her head right on his shoulder, maybe saying a joke to her, because after that she starts laughing.

“Ha, I am looking forward to the day, when we will finally have our own family, my love. Do you think I am going to be a good father?”

A Young man with a blush on his cheeks right after him holds his same-age girlfriend; you see how tightly she holds his hand, her thumb moving up and down on his skin, trying to calm his racing heart like she is not in the same position. Her beautiful eyes glow; you can notice it even being meters away from her.

“Ahh, this young couples make me so nostalgic. I remember us on our high school time, I’ve always known that we are going to be together, you know?”

A young couple is passing by you. His hand stays still on the small of her back while she holds a bouquet of flowers in her hand smiles at him. The glow of his eyes tells you - he is the happiest man in the world, looking at her like she is the only masterpiece in this cruel world and he is going to cherish and protect her. Even if it takes his life, he would do anything for her.

“I will do anything for you, my love. Even if you ask me to steal the moon, I will do that without hesitation. Only to see your beautiful smile, my love.”

Stupid, aching thoughts are back. This walk turns out to be failed attempt to get back in life. Right hand slides right under the baby bump. Hand is shaking slightly, imagination is going wild on what could have been if he’d chosen you.

Liar.

Such a liar. Telling how he will never go, his life is only yours, no one will ever be as important as you, you are the only one for him. Liar.

Liar.

He is just a liar.

I hate him.

Why.

Why.

WHY.

Tears are streaming down, you can’t keep sobs in you. Sun is not shining as bright as before, warm wind changed to a cold hurricane, everything is spinning around you, eyes are not able to lock on his grave.

Everything is too much. Your lunch is right in the back of your throat, ready to leave your body with a giant plump of grief. But you know that grief will never leave you. Always right behind you, counting minutes away to throw you into a hole full of pain, memories, what ifs and maybes.

You feel your little baby girl is kicking inside of you. She can sense your uneasiness. Maybe it’s her attempt to comfort you, to remind you she is always right here, you are not alone, at least in couple months you are going to have something that left from your dear husband.

The thought of a baby brings small smile to your face. Flat will be full of laugh, warmth and care. Cold bed, his pillow, wardrobe full of his clothes, favourite mug, box of candies for later, unfinished book and a left sticker with some doodles and:

“I will be back soon, my love! Don’t forget to tell our baby that I love them too!! I love you, my love.”

He didn’t come back. He is not going to come back anymore.

Such a liar.

Was it so hard to say about a fight? What was the point of hiding your pregnant wife in another country? Saying it’s for your safety, there is no need to stay in Japan these days. You would plead him to stay, but he always had the same line.

“I am the strongest, I can handle everything. Don’t you remember? I am your hero, my love!!”

“You know, Satoru, I was hoping that you would choose me. You promised to be here, right beside me, waiting for our baby.”

You lightly touch his tombstone with your palm, imagining that you are running your fingers through his white hair. He loved it, every time begging you to do it before the sleep.

“Life would be better, if you were my lovely villain, not a hero, Satoru.”